Sons of the Shadows, Legacy of Shadows Book I
by TheHall
Summary: It is the year 2001, and the thirty years of peace initiated by Barnabas Collins and Julia Hoffman is about to be interrupted for a new generation of Collins's.


Dark Shadows and all corresponding characters are the property of Dan Curtis Productions. No copyright infringement is intended. The following is a work of fan fiction, and will earn no profit for the author unless approved and published by HarperCollins Press, which holds the authorization to publish original works of fiction within the realm of Dark Shadows. These characters – beloved by many – are, at present, merely actors upon the stage of my imagination and will return to their respective posts on the story's completion. Thank You.  
  
What is Past is Prologue...  
  
For those not familiar with Dark Shadows, I envy you. You are about to embark on a world quite like our own, and yet nothing at all like our own. During the late 1960's – arguably the most turbulent decade in twentieth century U.S. history – a daytime soap opera emerged that was unlike anything television had ever seen before. It was a dark world of secrets and curses... a world of shadows. At the height of its popularity, 1968 – perhaps the most socially turbulent year of the decade – Dark Shadows garnered a daily audience of over twenty million. By contrast, that is roughly four times the television audience of the World Wrestling Federation today. Its tales of the supernatural rival anything one could find on The X-Files, and its characters were not at all unlike those seen on Buffy, the Vampire Slayer. In the end, however, nothing – in this writer's vast experience in television viewing – can compare to the marvelous tales of the Collins family, in their grand estate of Collinwood, high atop the peaks of Widows' Hill...  
Over the years, the universe of Dark Shadows has had many reincarnations. The two theatrical releases showed a somewhat different version of the story, as did the short-lived 1991 revival of the television series. This book, however, continues the story of the most popular incarnation: the 1966-1971 daytime series. The story follows the Collins family, who founded the town of Collinsport, Maine in the late seventeenth century. Through the succeeding generations, the family has been forced to endure, in the light of their massive material wealth, a never-ending array of threats from the world of the supernatural. By the mid-1960's, the family was on the brink of threatened extinction, although they themselves were not even aware of it. Their sole salvation lie within the hands of their most terrible secret. In the year 1795, Collins heir apparent, Barnabas Collins, was cursed by his angry and vindictive wife Angelique to die and resurrect as a creature of the night... a vampire. Barnabas' father, Joshua Collins, ordered him chained within his coffin and hidden for all time. Fate, however, had different plans for Barnabas Collins. His coffin was discovered by would-be grave robber, Willie Loomis, in 1967. He was released and, over time, dedicated himself to the protection and preservation of the Collins family.  
He was joined in this quest by his closest friend, Dr. Julia Hoffman; and later by another cursed Collins from the past, his cousin Quentin. These three, along with their other friends and family members, managed to save the Collins family time and again, until finally tracing the root of all of the family's hardships: an ancient curse placed on the original Collins patriarch, Isaiah Collins, nearly three hundred years before. By traveling through time, Barnabas and Julia were able to find and finally put an end to the curse, freeing not only the family of its "dark shadows", but Barnabas as well from his own vampiric curse. The story of the Collins family ended on that happy note in 1971. This story picks up from there, showing us that no matter how hard we may try to escape, we are forever held in the clutches of our own dark shadows...  
Sons of the Shadows  
  
By  
  
Richard A. Hall  
  
Collinwood at the dawn of the millennium. The cold Maine wind descends from the cliffs of Widow's Hill, blowing against the Great House as a clarion call for its new master. Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard has passed away, leaving the estate to her cousin, Barnabas Collins. Freed now from his vampire curse for nearly thirty years, the new master looks out at his estate and cannot help but reflect upon the dark shadows of the past. Little does he know that all for which he has fought and suffered might still be destroyed . . . by the shadows of the present . . .  
  
CHAPTER 1  
  
Charles Collins had always loved Collinwood. As a boy, he used to enjoy running through the long corridors, peering into centuries-old rooms, and wondering what life must have been like for those early inhabitants of the Great House. It has been many years since he last ran those corridors. With the death of his mother, when he was still a young boy, his father, David Collins, swore that they would never again return to the estate of their ancestry. That was nearly twenty years ago. Since then, Charles has lived at the Bangor mansion with his father and grandfather, learning the family business, ready to assume control upon his father's – and grandfather's – retirement (still many years away, no doubt, since his grandfather, Roger Collins remains at the helm even at nearly seventy years of age). Through the years, Charles has been to the finest schools, and been the perfect son in every sense of the word. Although most would have considered him a good-looking young man with his sandy brown hair and deep blue eyes, few young ladies had seemed to show much interest over the years, allowing Charles the freedom to pursue such interests as music and the arts. Charles Collins was bored.  
Earlier today was the funeral of Roger's sister, Elizabeth Collins- Stoddard, mistress of Collinwood for over fifty years. The entire family had returned to the estate, and Charles had been eager – even in light of the morbid circumstances – to meet his many relatives. His cousin Carolyn had returned for her mother's funeral, and to claim control of her mother's estate. Everyone had been surprised at the reading of the will that Elizabeth had not left Collinwood to her daughter, or even her own brother. Instead, the will had dictated that the estate be returned to "its rightful owner", Elizabeth's cousin, Barnabas Collins.  
Barnabas was an imposing figure; tall, and with a rather regal bearing. He had a surprisingly thick head of grayish-white hair, with a matching goatee. In his hand at all times was a beautiful antique cane with a silver wolf's head as a handle. At one time it had no doubt been for show, but these days it appeared to be all that stood sometimes between its owner and the floor. Charles had asked his father how they were related, and the response was slow in coming. In fact, it was only after several minutes that David Collins had chosen to answer his son's question. In the end, it had been explained that Barnabas was the descendent of the oldest child of the original owner of Collinwood, Joshua Collins. Apparently, Joshua and his son – also named "Barnabas" – had quarreled, causing the son to leave home and return to England, where he married and had children of his own. Elizabeth had felt that she was "righting an ancient wrong" by returning the estate to Barnabas. It had been Charles's impression that his father and grandfather did not agree with her decision. That did not surprise him. Collinwood was a massive estate, over two hundred acres; and one thing his father and grandfather had an eye for was real estate. Still, Charles thought that the decision of Elizabeth had been a noble one, one worthy of a Collins; and Charles hoped that he would get the opportunity to get to know his cousin, Barnabas, better.  
The will had also stipulated that the estate would always offer a home to any Collins, and Charles was, indeed, a Collins. Although it would upset his father, Charles had all but decided to remain on the estate for a while. He missed the Great House, and his relatives were very intriguing. Aside from Barnabas, there was Quentin Collins, another cousin descended from an errant Collins of the past. Charles had seen portraits of some Collins ancestors named Barnabas and Quentin Collins. The resemblance between descendents and ancestors were eerie to say the least. Apparently, the current Quentin had become very wealthy in his own right (something, he felt, that made his grandfather both jealous and resentful). Unlike the more reserved Barnabas, Quentin was overtly friendly and laughed a great deal. Now that he thought of it, Quentin had found the bequest of Collinwood to Barnabas to be amusing almost to the point of seizure. Barnabas had been unable to keep from staring at Quentin, almost as if he could not believe what he saw. Quentin was about ten years younger than Barnabas, and although not as regal in appearance, Charles had seen nothing "unusual" enough about Quentin to cause such attention. Quentin was tall and lean with gray hair and piercing blue eyes, all enhancing his long, angular face.  
After walking the grounds of the Great House, Charles wandered down the dirt path that led to the place once called "The Old House". This had been the original Collins residence until completion of the Great House in 1795. There were many old buildings on the estate; enough to make one wonder if Collinwood had, in fact, been a town at one time, rather than just a family estate. The path he walked was heavily overgrown. The forest on either side had all but grown together, swallowing up the old path almost entirely. Charles looked up into the canopy of massive trees. Even though it was not quite night, the forest was already dark and foreboding. The knarled trees stood as immortal protectors to the many secrets of the estate. What men had walked these woods over the centuries? There were many rumors of the ghosts of Collinwood, but Charles didn't believe in such things. Besides, his father and grandfather had grown up in this house. Surely if ghosts did exist, they would have seen them. Or had they? Now, that Charles thought of it, no one ever spoke of Collinwood as anything other than the family's proudest possession. His father never spoke of his childhood here on the estate, other than to mention that Elizabeth's nurse, Maggie Evans, had once been his governess.  
Ms. Evans still lived on the estate; well, for the time being anyway. As she had for the rest of the Collins family, Elizabeth had stipulated in her will that Ms. Evans be allowed to remain as long as she wished, yet another fact that had appeared to bring much joy to cousin Quentin. There was one other person mentioned in the will; but Charles could not remember his name. It was Wilford, or William, or Wilson, or . . .  
"Hey, Kid!"  
The voice startled Charles so much, he fell and hit his head on a tree root along the side of the path. Gaining his bearings, and rubbing his head, Charles turned to confront this obvious trespasser.  
The still-frightened young Collins, dusting himself off, asked, "Who are you?"  
"I was about to ask you the same thing," said the older man. He was about sixty-years-old, close to cousin Quentin's age, but shorter and rounder than the older Collins cousin. He had a thick gray mustache and small, dark eyes. He wore the clothes of a gardener, and carried a rather ominous looking machete. Out of place with his attire was a solid gold chain around his neck, which had hanging from it a larger-than-acceptable gold crucifix. "So, who are you?"  
"I'm Charles Collins, now who are you?"  
"Oh my God, David's kid. Jesus, you sure have grown since the last time I saw you! Well, don't you remember me, kid?"  
"I can't say as I do, sir. Have we met?"  
"Well, sure. I'm Willie Loomis, the caretaker of the estate."  
Now Charles remembered the name.  
"Of course, I remember you from the reading of my Great-Aunt's will; but I'm sorry I don't remember you personally. You say you knew me when I was younger?"  
Mr. Loomis's tone changed from friendly to nervous.  
"Uh, yeah, that's right, kid. I mean I remember that you used to live here a long time ago with your old man. That's it. I was working here when your . . ."  
"When my mother died. Did you know my mother as well?"  
"Yeah . . . I mean, no . . . I mean I never met her, I just remember you all living here, that's all."  
Charles sensed that there was something about the subject of his mother that made the man nervous. No one ever wanted to discuss his mother. His own memory of her was vague to say the least. He was only five years old when she died and his father decided that they would leave Collinwood. Even after all these years, the mention of her would send his father into a long and uncomfortable silence. Charles had never known how his mother died. The impact that the subject had on his father had made it a subject that Charles had learned to avoid. As much as it hurt him to have never really known his mother, the obvious pain that it brought his father was too much for Charles to even consider broaching the subject with him. His grandfather, too, never wanted to discuss the issue; then again, there were few subjects other than money that his grandfather did want to discuss. Mr. Loomis could now be added to the list of people that just didn't want to discuss his mother. As much as Charles wanted to press the issue, that just wouldn't be polite.  
"Well, it's nice to have met you Mr. Loomis. Will you be staying on the estate now that my Aunt Elizabeth has passed?"  
"Huh? Oh, yeah . . . yeah, I guess I'll stay as long as Barnabas wants me too."  
That was a rather familiar way for a servant to mention his new employer, Charles thought.  
"Do you know my cousin Barnabas well?"  
"Huh? Oh, yeah, me and Barnabas known eachother for a long time."  
"I'm sure, then, that he is happy to have you to help him with the estate."  
"I guess so," Mr. Loomis added nervously, "Well, I gotta be going. You should be going too. It ain't safe out here at night. I mean, you could get lost out here. It gets pretty dark."  
"I'm hoping to get down to the site of the Old House before it gets too dark."  
"Well, why you wanna go down there? Ain't nothing to see but some old burnt up ruins. Barnabas . . . er. . . I mean . . . that place burned down ages ago. There ain't nothin' to see down there." Mr. Loomis appeared to be getting more nervous by the minute.  
"I know, I just want to go. I like the idea of being near where my ancestors lived. Who knows, maybe I'll even see a ghost." Charles grinned.  
"Now that ain't funny, kid," Mr. Loomis said a little too seriously. As he walked away, he looked back and said, "Be careful what you wish for kid . . . you might just get it." With that, Willie Loomis wandered off in the direction of the Great House.  
Charles trudged along, fighting the growing wind, determined to reach his goal. It seemed that the closer he got to the site of the Old House, the stronger the wind grew. Could it be that Mr. Loomis was right? Were the spirits of the past trying in their own way to keep him from their resting place? Charles laughed to himself at the thought. Perhaps he had already been here too long. Before he knew it, he would be seeing ghosts floating above his bed. Don't knock it, Charles, he thought, it would be the most action your bed has seen in . . . well . . . ever. Charles couldn't believe he had just thought that. It was true, though; and it was a fact that was beginning to bother him a great deal. It wasn't so much the desire for a lude encounter; it was more the desire to desire . . . to feel someone close to you . . . wanting you as you want them . . . feeling for you . . .  
"Oh my God!" For a moment, Charles thought he truly was crazy. On entering the clearing where the burnt remains of the Old House lay like a rotting corpse, for just a moment, Charles could have sworn that he had seen someone. In fact, he would have sworn that he had just seen a woman, wearing a hooded cloak. Casting aside for the moment that women just don't wear hooded cloaks anymore – and also the fact that he was more than a little concerned that he actually knew that – what would a woman be doing out here? The only women who should be within ten miles of Collinwood were Ms. Evans and cousin Carolyn, both of whom were supposed to be out for the evening.  
Chills ran down his back as he peered into the darkness beyond the wreckage. Now you really are going nuts, Charles 'ole boy. Charles walked through the ruins of the house, kicking boards aside, not sure what he was looking for. Near the remains of the fireplace was a framed object. Dusting it off with his jacket sleeve, he recognized Barnabas, much younger. Considering how long it must have been lying here, it was in remarkably good condition. In fact, Charles was sure that an antiquities shop he knew of in Bangor could even restore it. What a surprise that would be for cousin Barnabas; and the perfect gift to give for allowing him to stay at Collinwood.  
As he walked out of what had been the living area, he headed back toward the path before the sun went completely down. Suddenly, something caught his eye. He turned back toward where he had found the portrait. Just beyond that, there was a burnt bookcase, lying on something. Whatever was under it was pretty big. He put the portrait down by the fireplace and lifted what was left of the bookcase, looking underneath.  
He immediately dropped it. A coffin, he thought to himself, oh my god, it's a coffin. He backed up quickly, tripping over some scattered debris. Landing on his back, he turned quickly . . . and screamed. He was staring directly in the face of the portrait. He leapt to his feet, grabbed the portrait, jumped the remaining debris, and raced down the path toward the Great House. Why on earth would anyone have had a coffin in the Old House? His heart raced; and as he ran, he couldn't help but feel that the hooded woman was running along side him.  
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god!" These were the times when little rich kids wished they had worked out more growing up. He could see the Great House in the distance; but every step seemed to take him only further away. "Dear God, if you would just get me to the Great House safely, I swear I'll never go where I'm not supposed to again!"  
On reaching the huge front lawn of the Great House, well past the woods, Charles Collins could run no more. He fell to his knees, dropping the portrait. Suddenly, he felt a creeping feeling along his shoulder, making him jerk and look behind him. There she was! He got to his feet, drumming up all the courage a Collins could muster.  
"Hey!" Yeah, that's telling them, Charles.  
His voice echoed off the massive walls of the Great House. It startled him to hear his own voice reverberate behind him. He turned back again toward the woods . . . and she was gone. It was not his imagination. Someone had been at the Old House; and that someone had followed him back to the estate. The questions were . . . who and why? He picked up the portrait again and looked down at the regal face of Barnabas Collins.  
"Why do I get the feeling that you know?" Charles dusted more carbon from the canvas. "Well, Mr. Barnabas Collins, just why did the Old House burn down?" Charles Collins couldn't help but feel that the answer to that question would lead him on the path of his pursuer. As he reached the Great House, he got the feeling again that he was being watched. In fact, he could see the person this time. There, just beyond the kitchen entrance to the House, it was a woman; but she was no longer hooded.  
On seeing him look at her, the woman ran away, around the side of the House. Charles put the portrait just inside the door and took off after her. Not so fast, my pretty, he thought, you need to answer a few questions before you disappear on me again. The real question was: if this were the same girl from the woods, how did she pass him and beat him to the House? What's more, why had she removed her cloak? If the answers to those questions were that she hadn't, that meant he had two female pursuers.  
"I need to come home more often."  
  
At the corner table of the Collinsport Inn restaurant, Maggie Evans sat looking at the old friend across the table from her. The years had not been unkind to her companion. He was still tall and thin, and the gray hair seemed to suit him somehow. Even as a young man, Quentin Collins had seemed mature for his age; well, mature in a boyish kind of way. Now, age had caught up with him. Maggie couldn't fight the nagging feeling that in some other place, some other time, something beautiful could have arisen between them. Being here brought back a lot of old feelings and memories.  
Life had been so easy in Collinsport once. Maggie had herself been a waitress here in this very restaurant . . . a long time ago. In those days she had many beaus, the most memorable of whom had been Joe Haskell. Poor Joe. After they had broken up, Joe had signed on to one of the ships that were constantly coming through Collinsport. That same ship had been caught in a storm, and Joe was lost forever. Maggie remembered that her father had always liked Joe. Maggie fought back a tear at the thought of her father. Sam Evans had been a brilliantly talented artist once . . . before he had been struck with blindness . . . and later death. So many strange things had happened in Collinsport in those days . . . days that seemed like a million years ago. All her life, she'd heard the rumors of the ghosts of Collinwood, the family estate of the mighty Collinses, for whom Collinsport had been named. So many mysteries surrounded that beautiful house on the cliffs of Widow's Hill; mysteries that affected her personally when she replaced her friend, Victoria Winters as governess to young David Collins.  
It had been thirty years since her ex-husband, Sebastian Shaw, had taken her from Collinwood in the dead of night. She had been terrified of something, that she remembered clearly, although for the life of her she couldn't remember now what it had been. Something dark . . . something that threatened her life . . . something that sent goose bumps down her neck even now. She and Sebastian had been bound for Windcliffe Sanitarium to give her a much-needed rest; but Sebastian changed his mind mid-way, and kept going on to Canada. It was there that they had been married. It was wonderful at first, as things like that usually are; but over time, cute idiosyncrasies had transformed into mind-numbing irritation. It took Maggie fifteen years to come to the inevitable conclusion that her husband was actually a psychic wannabe weirdo, and a paranoid one at that. It became more and more difficult to believe in the psychic abilities of someone who was afraid of his own shadows. She left him in the dead of night; no "good-bye", no kiss, just left. He had known it was over as well . . . made even more clear by the fact that not once in all these years had he come looking for her. After Joe, and Nicholas, and Barnabas, and Sebastian, Maggie had grown wearisome of men. There were very few benefits they could offer that could not be easily replaced with various household appliances. Then why am I here now with Quentin Collins . . .  
"Penny for your thoughts," said Quentin, startling Maggie from here reverie.  
"Just remembering," said Maggie, "so many memories here in Collinsport."  
"Yet none of us," sighed the most charming of Collinses, "now why was that?"  
"I don't recall you showing much interest in those days," replied Maggie coyly.  
"Maybe you just weren't paying attention." Quentin Collins knew what the reason had been . . . Barnabas. His dear cousin had always had such an infatuation with Maggie; in no small part due to the resemblance she held for his old love, Josette.  
"Maybe," Maggie looked deep into his eyes. Either he was sincere, or he was the most consummate con man she had ever known; but who was she kidding, that was exactly what he was. "Would you excuse me for a moment?"  
"Of course," Quentin stood to pull back Maggie's chair.  
"I'll just be a moment."  
"Take your time, I'm not going anywhere."  
As Maggie walked away, Quentin couldn't help but wonder why, indeed, nothing had ever come between them. It was true that Barnabas had been very interested in her once, but that had changed on his return from his trip through time to the year 1840. Barnabas had told Quentin everything of his adventure to the past; Quentin was one of the few people he could confide such a thing to. They were two of a kind, he and Barnabas. The immortal werewolf and vampire . . . if it hadn't been so horrible it would have been laughable.  
A lot had changed after the crisis that had taken Barnabas and his "Dr. Watson", Dr. Julia Hoffman on their trip through time. The crisis had been that Collinwood – and David in particular – had been haunted and ultimately destroyed by the ghost of Gerard Stiles, a jealous comrade of the Collins family of the past. An army of zombies had destroyed the estate, and many of the Collins family had been killed. Of course no one remembered any of it. Barnabas and Julia had succeeded in changing history to save the present, and only the three of them and their old friend Professor Elliot Stokes had any memory of the affair. Since then the dark shadows of the Collins family had been silent. Barnabas had married Julia, and Quentin had been best man. Barnabas and Julia were a natural pair. No one knew or loved Barnabas as Julia had. Quentin remembered that the night before the wedding, over Collinwood's last bottle of Amontillado, Barnabas had confided in Quentin the details of his final confrontation with the witch Angelique back in 1840; and how he had told her that she was his one true love. How Quentin had laughed at that. If he'd discovered that two centuries ago, when Angelique had first cursed Barnabas out of a jealous rage to a life as one of the undead, his life would have been a much simpler one. Then again, if he had, Collinwood would be laying in ruins today, and the family all but dead; and Quentin, himself, would be no more than a disgruntled spirit, haunting the Collins children; since it had been Barnabas – on yes another voyage through time – that had saved him from the brutal death that had been his original destiny. Instead, he lived today, the rakish rogue here having dinner with Maggie Evans.  
And just what was he doing here? He should be at Collinwood making overdue explanations to Barnabas. Ha, he thought at remembering the look on Barnabas's face when he had seen Quentin, finally looking his age – or near abouts anyway. Not long after the Barnabas and Julia's wedding, Quentin had left Collinwood, unable to bear all the memories that went with living there. He had traveled the world and become quite wealthy in his own right as a collector of rare antiquities. After all, who better to determine the authenticity of antiques than a man one hundred fifty years old? It had been a long road for Quentin Collins.  
After choosing the "curse" of immortality to replace that of the werewolf, he had left Collinwood in 1898, and had traveled the world in search of his lost love, Amanda. He clearly recalled the initial trip to China, to see if the land of the mysterious I-Ching may also hold some answers to his own curse . . . a choice between immortality or becoming mortal and living with the monthly curse of becoming a creature of the night. When no answers were forthcoming, it had been on to Hong Kong for a few years, then a short stint in Bangkok. He had returned home in time to sign up to fight the Nazis in World War II, but after that . . . nothing. The next thing he remembered was waking up in a hospital room in Collinsport in 1969. The nurses told him his name was Grant Douglas, but it was Dr. Julia Hoffman who had told him who he really was.  
Why could he not remember those lost twenty-five years? What had happened? What trouble could he have caused in all that time? Quentin chuckled at the thought. Well, with the curse of immortality well behind him, maybe he wouldn't be around long enough to learn what terrible secrets were held by Mister Grant Douglas.  
  
You're a dead man, Mister Grant Douglas, Vial Stone thought to himself, or Quentin Collins, or Rumplestiltskin, or whatever you call yourself these days. Stone looked once more at the calendar on his dashboard, then up at he sky. He'd been traveling for nearly a week now, and he was determined to reach Collinsport before nightfall. It had been five long years, and he wasn't going to stop now. Five long years since his mother had told him the truth about his "father".  
All his life, he had been told that his father was a great war hero, dying bravely in the jungles of Vietnam. Then, five years ago, on her deathbed, his mother had told him the truth: his father's name was Grant Douglas, he had been an art dealer working mostly out of New York; the two of them had been happy, and he appeared ecstatic at the news that she was pregnant. Yeah, Stone thought, so happy he forgot to come back one night. He'd managed to track Grant Douglas to a car wreck just outside of Collinsport thirty-two years ago, then nothing. He'd thought – and hoped – that that was the end of the trail, that Douglas had died in the crash; but a nurse had crushed those hopes.  
The man he sought was calling himself Quentin Collins now. What could have been so horrible about settling down with his mother as to make this man fake a car wreck and create a whole new life for himself? What kind of man abandons a pregnant woman like that? What kind of man has such disregard for his own offspring? Those were all answers that Stone would have soon.  
Turning off the coast road, Stone looked once more at his dash calendar, then again up to the sky.  
"Not now, goddamn it!", he hit the steering wheel. "Not when I'm this damn close!"  
The signpost ahead read ten miles to Collinsport. Stone looked ahead and saw the last streams of sunlight on the horizon. He brought his '68 Mustang screeching to a halt at the side of the road.  
"Close, but no cigar," he looked at the calendar again.  
Vial Stone got out of his car and began unbuttoning his shirt. How many of these had he gone through before he finally learned? How many thousands of dollars of damage to his 'stang? He looked down at his rough hands, hands that would soon become even rougher still. He caught a glimpse of himself in his reflection in the car window. His entire appearance from his dark brown hair, which stretched across his face through long sideburns, to the brown earthen eyes that sat deep in his long, angular face, would all soon change into something far less than human. Son of a bitch, he thought to himself, why me?! He kicked off his shoes and threw them and his shirt into the car. He took a deep breath and ran into the woods at top speed. It would be any second now.  
As he ran, it started. It always hit him in the gut first. Like a ball of fire exploding in his stomach, then shooting up his spine like a comet, the fire shot through his brain. One more second of pain and he'd be conscious of nothing else.  
The full moon shone down on the dark woods of the Collinwood estate.  
"HOWR! HOWR! HOWRRROOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"  
  
Charles Collins stopped cold in his tracks. What in the heck was going on around here?! Hooded women? Coffins? Animals baying at the moon? Charles couldn't help but remember what Willie Loomis had told him earlier – although it seemed like a hundred years ago now – be careful what you wish for . . .  
He had chased the girl to near the edge of the woods that surrounded the Great House. He wanted desperately to catch her to ensure that she didn't go into the woods, especially with whatever was in there howling; but the more he chased her, the further she ran. No, Charles thought, better to go back to the Great House. Perhaps if he ceased his pursuit, the girl would decide against entering the woods. He turned back toward the house, ominous in the glow of the full moon over the estate.  
On reaching the rear kitchen door, Charles picked up the portrait of Barnabas once more. What do you know about all this? Charles' father had been very mysterious when talking about Barnabas Collins, but Charles wanted answers. He was a Collins, darn it! Charles went up to his room to clean up and to pack away the portrait until he could take it into Bangor for restoration. He would ask his cousin about the mysteries of the day, and hope that the answers were something he could handle.  
  
She watched him from the edge of the woods until he went into the house. She stepped delicately out of the tree line, careful to stay in the shadows of the woods. Whoever her handsome pursuer was, he appeared to be easily frightened. Magdalena Rakosi feared nothing. Although she could not explain what had happened to her over the course of the last week or so, she did not fear whatever it may be. She was a gypsy of the Romano clan; and the one thing her mother, Magda, had taught her was that there was nothing of this world that was worthy of her fear . . . especially men.  
It had been only a month ago that Magdalena had come to Collinsport to find her parents. She had been in New York City attending boarding school. She and her friends had celebrated the dawn of the new century in Central Park; and she was eager to come and spend some time with her tribe before returning to continue her studies. She was the first of the Romano clan to attend college of any kind.  
Unfortunately, what she discovered on her return to Collinsport was anything but pleasant. King Johnny Romano, the tribal chieftain, was dead at the hands of the murderous Count Andreas Petofi. Her mother had left Collinsport after being expelled from the tribe for having had something to do with the death of King Johnny. Her father was dead. Magdalena had asked Wanda, the oldest and wisest woman of the clan, who was responsible for the death of her father. The old woman had peered into the crystal to find a name and a face; she seemed terrified to finally utter the words . . . Barnabas Collins.  
Magdalena's heart and mind were set on vengeance. She would return to Collinwood and mete out her revenge on this Barnabas Collins. Wanda had prepared her for her upcoming battle. Mr. Collins was no ordinary adversary. He was one of the undead, a nosferatu, a vampyre. For as long as man had roamed the earth, there had been that race of beings that existed on a plane between life and death. The vampyre lived off of the blood of the living. They abhorred the garlic, the image of the Son of God, and, above all, daylight. Magdalena's vengeance would not have long to wait . . . only until sunrise.  
She had arrived on the massive Collinwood estate just after nightfall. She decided that she would hide in the massive Great House overnight. The vampyre would never suspect an enemy in his midst. She was nearly discovered by the kitchen staff, but she ducked into a hidden passage in the wall. The passage lead her to a stairway. When she reached the top of the stairway, she came through a door and found herself once more in the kitchen. How could this be?, she thought to herself. She turned back into the passage . . . and the stairway was gone. Frightened and confused, convinced that this witchcraft was in some way the work of her enemy, she hurried out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She heard voices on the other side of the door.  
"Good evening, Barnabas," a female voice had said. Her enemy was here. He was aware of her presence . . . but how?  
"Good evening, Maggie," Barnabas Collins, "How is Elizabeth tonight?"  
"She's in and out," the woman said, "When she's coherent, she keeps asking for Carolyn."  
"Any word from Carolyn yet?"  
"No, and I'm afraid that Mrs. Stoddard can't hold out much longer."  
"That deeply saddens me."  
"I just don't understand, Barnabas; I would have given anything for one last moment with my father. What is Carolyn thinking?"  
"The unfortunate truth, Maggie, is that, to most, death is all too unreal a situation until it is too late. I fear that if Carolyn fails to arrive in time to make peace with her mother, she shall regret it for the rest of her life."  
"We have to find her, Barnabas, we just have to."  
"We shall try, Maggie, that is all we can do."  
What kind of monster is this Barnabas Collins to so piously pass judgement on the living?! How dare he!! Bloodsucking Murderer!!!  
Magdalena turned back toward the kitchen. It wouldn't be wise to approach the vampyre in the dead of night. As she turned, she saw a newspaper on the table. It might not have normally grabbed her attention so, but this newspaper was unlike anything she had ever seen before, even in New York. This newspaper had color pictures. She picked it up and read the headline: "Clinton Presidency Draws to a Close".  
Clinton, Magdalena thought, Who is Clinton? McKinley is President, and his term is not over, he has only been in office for nine months or so. She looked at the date of the paper in the corner and could feel the color leave her face. JANUARY 19 . . . 2001.  
By all the powers of light and darkness, what is going on here?! Had the news of her parents driven her completely insane? No, she knew who and where and when she was! Her name was Magdalena Rakosi! She was in Collinsport, Maine! And this was the year 1898!!!  
More than a week had passed since then. Magdalena had survived by stealing what she needed from the kitchen. One could survive for ages in this house without being discovered. She had learned a great deal in her brief stay here. Somehow she had been thrown forward in time itself to the year 2001; and, somehow, her prey had been as well. Barnabas Collins lived here in this house, but he was a very old man. Also, it was clear that he was not, in fact, a vampyre. She had seen him in the light of day on several occasions. The lady of the manor, Mrs. Stoddard, had passed away without seeing her daughter; and all of her relatives had returned for her funeral like vultures to claim her estate.  
Magdalena had listened through the wall as the will was read for the family. Barnabas Collins had inherited the estate rather than the daughter. As much as Magdalena wanted Collins dead, she was glad that the ungrateful daughter had not received the beautiful house. She had postponed her attack on Barnabas Collins for the time being. First, she must discover what had brought her here and, if possible, how she would return to her own time.  
Another factor in her procrastination was this Barnabas Collins. He obviously was not one of the undead. This was a man of this time; and although aged, he was not old enough to have lived a century ago. Maybe this was a different Barnabas Collins, perhaps a descendant of the vampyre she sought. Perhaps that creature had been destroyed by someone else over the past hundred years.  
The past hundred years! How on earth could she ever deal with that. She was not afraid! She was intrigued more than anything else. As much that had changed in the last century, just as much had remained the same. She tried numerous times to find the stairway that had brought her forward in time, but to no avail. She had determined to try for a few more days. If she was still unsuccessful, she would move on with her life here in this century. She would present herself to this new master of Collinwood as a potential house servant. The one thing Collinwood desperately needed was a good housekeeper. She would educate herself on the ways of this time, and move on from there.  
If only I'd searched for my mother before running off for vengeance, she thought to herself, No! "What if's" will get me nowhere! It's time to put your mind on survival, Magdalena!  
She had been walking the grounds when the young man had seen her. She wasn't ready to be found yet. The woods had been her nearest refuge. Luckily, the young man was more interested in saving his own skin than in finding her. To think that a young man would leave a defenseless woman in the woods just because of a howling dog! What kind of time is this?!  
Magdalena heard a rustling in the trees to her left. She stopped cold. Was it the dog that had been howling? Perhaps a bold statement of fearing nothing had been a bit presumptuous. Maybe it was just a squirrel, or a rabbit, or a . . . She turned her head slowly . . .  
Nothing  
She started looking closer to see if she could find something there. It was not unusual for people to gain a "sixth sense" that someone was near. She had experienced it many times in her life, normally pleased to be right when her feeling turned out to be a pleasant surprise from friends or family. That was the feeling she had now. Someone was watching her. However, in this strange new time, she knew that nothing as pleasant as a surprise party could come of this feeling. That was when she felt the hot breath on her neck. She turned . . .  
If she had been able to muster a scream, she was not aware of it. Exhaustion, confusion, and now shock took control of her body. As she lost consciousness, the last thing she saw was the full moon . . . the yellow eyes . . . and the bared fangs.  
  
Barnabas Collins looked out the bay window of the Drawing Room of the Great House of Collinwood toward the sound of the howling. Although dogs were not uncommon in the dark woods of the estate, this howl was distinct . . . and not quite animal. Quentin, Barnabas thought to himself. Had that been the reason for Quentin's having aged? Had he finally destroyed his portrait – the portrait that aged in Quentin's stead, and likewise transformed into the image of a werewolf during a full moon – and accepted the curse of the werewolf in exchange for a mortal life? No, even if Quentin had indeed once more become a creature of the night, he would have taken precautions to confine himself during the full cycle of the moon. Then again, what if Barnabas were wrong? What if Quentin had gone mad? What if he had decided to slash his portrait, taking back the curse placed on him by the gypsy woman, Magda, only to take out his revenge on the entire family? What if . . .  
"Not a fit night out, eh, Cousin?"  
"Quentin!" Barnabas knees trembled and he clutched his chest at the unannounced arrival of the subject of his deep reflection.  
"Easy, old friend," Quentin rushed to his side.  
"I'm quite alright, I assure you. I was simply startled. For a moment, I thought perhaps that you . . ."  
"That I might be out marking my territory?" Quentin smiled. "Worry not, dear Cousin, I assure you I fear neither the moon nor the future these days."  
"Would you care to explain exactly how that is?"  
Quentin was about to say something when the drawing room doors opened.  
"Excuse me, didn't mean to interrupt," Maggie Evans said as she entered the drawing room.  
"Quite alright, my dear," Quentin said, "Barnabas and I were just about to catch up on old times. I guess I didn't realize just how long I've been away. My dear Cousin is beginning to look a bit 'long in the tooth' . . . so to speak."  
Barnabas shot Quentin a knowing glare. No matter how many years Quentin Collins would live, the boy would be forever alive in him.  
"Well, I just wanted to say 'good-night' and thank you again for a wonderful evening."  
"I do hope we can do it again sometime. Sooner rather than later."  
"That would be lovely. Well, goodnight. Good night to you too, Barnabas."  
"Good night, Maggie, pleasant dreams." With that, Maggie left for her room upstairs.  
Barnabas turned to Quentin, "You do enjoy your sarcastic puns, don't you."  
"Come now, Cousin," Quentin whispered, "what good is immortality among friends if you can't enjoy the little things from time to time."  
"It would appear, 'old friend', that our days of immortality are long behind us."  
"Ah, yes, you're probably wondering about my 'touch of gray'."  
"We can discuss that another time, perhaps; when the surroundings are a bit more secure. Roger and the children should be home soon as well."  
"Children? Barnabas, I don't know how to break this to you, but Carolyn and David are both middle age now."  
"Yes, I know. Where has the time gone?"  
Quentin looked at his aged cousin's thoughtful expression. How much had Barnabas gone through for the sake of the Collins family? How much had he given up of a "normal life"? Then, after all he had gone through; and after finally finding the love that he had searched for for so long, it had been cruelly taken away. "How long has it been?"  
"Since Julia's passing? Nearly sixteen years. How I do miss her, Quentin." Barnabas lamented as he walked over to the mantle to look at the portrait of his departed wife, Julia. He'd had the portrait commissioned just shortly after their wedding thirty years ago. He gazed into her deep green eyes, and couldn't help but smile as he reached up and touched the portrait lovingly.  
"Don't torture yourself, Cousin. You gave her more happiness than most women ever know . . . and a damn sight more excitement." Both men chuckled at that. In all their adventures to save Collinwood from one mysterious curse after another, Quentin and Barnabas had always had their respective supernatural powers to assist their wits against their various foes; but Julia had been mortal the whole time . . . with nothing but her wits and her undying devotion to Barnabas to get her through.  
"So, then, Barnabas," Quentin searched for a change of subject to lighten his cousin's mood, "what do you suppose stalks the woods of Collinwood this night?"  
"Perhaps it was just a dog," Barnabas looked back toward the window, "It could be that I have gone sufficiently senile to begin imagining threats around every corner."  
"Not a far stretch in this house."  
"Did you notice the howl, Quentin," Barnabas asked, "It didn't seem to be the mindless instinctive howl of an animal . . . it seemed to have feeling behind it . . . pain . . . anger . . . desperation."  
"I didn't want to admit it, but you're right," this time it was Quentin that gave the knowing stare, this time aimed at the window, "Perhaps the last thirty years were just the 'seventh inning stretch' for Collinwood."  
"Why do you say that," Barnabas looked back at Quentin.  
"Because, dear Cousin, unless my century-plus of experience escapes me . . . 'something wicked this way comes'."  
  
CHAPTER 2  
  
He walked along the rain-shrouded streets of Bangor. He possessed no umbrella, no raincoat, no galoshes. As he walked on this particularly cold and rainy Maine night, the passersby stared at him. He was used to that. He went out of his way to draw attention to himself. And why shouldn't he?!  
As he stood at the street corner, a young hooker looked his way. Move along, my dear, anger and malice growing inside of him, I have neither the time nor the inclination for the likes of you! Then again, how long had it been since he had felt a woman's touch? It mattered not. Such things were the preoccupations of the young.  
The young, he chuckled to himself, I should not forget that I am the young. Indeed, it had been a very long time since he had been as young as he now was. Such power, such brilliance for so long trapped within the confines of weakened, aging shells. He looked down at his hand. A complete contrast to his young, toned body, his hand was shriveled . . . yet more powerful than the entire rest of his body combined. He admired his ring – for probably the quadrillionth time, if such a number existed – a large ruby stone set in solid gold.  
He crossed the street and stood staring at his final destination. He stretched his neck to look up to the top of the building. Collins Enterprises. At long last, the revenge for which he had for so long lived and breathed was within his grasp. He had never coveted much of others. All he had ever wanted was freedom from those who sought to destroy him. In exchange he had been willing, over the years, to use his powers to grant favors to those who would help him. How had he been repaid? Betrayal! He could have used his powers to rule the world had he put his mind to it! Hadn't they understood that?! Didn't they know that their betrayal would not, could not, go unpunished forever?! Of course not, they couldn't imagine such things. The Arrogance!, he thought as he cursed their names for the last time . . .  
Barnabas and Quentin Collins!!! He laughed as the lightning illuminated the name "Collins" on the side of the building, and the rain rushed down on him like a baptism.  
He had been patient for long enough. He had done his homework. His adversaries were just a few short hours away . . . at the Great House of Collinwood. Neither of them anywhere near as powerful as he had been... and now was again. Of course he knew that the odds were all in his favor and that the gentlemen in question had no way of even putting up a fight . . . but revenge needn't be won fairly . . . only won . . . and Count Andreas Petofi always wins.  
  
Barnabas could not remember the last time he had so looked forward to breakfast at Collinwood. With Elizabeth all but bed-ridden these last few months, the breakfast table had consisted of polite small talk between himself and Maggie; both aware that a person very dear to them had such a short time left. Maggie, too, seemed happy to have such a full table this morning. Although happily engaged in conversation with David, anyone could tell that she anxiously awaited the arrival this morning of another Collins.  
Barnabas looked around the table at his family . . . his family. Although true in the most literal sense of the word, Barnabas had nearly forgotten that the people surrounding him this morning were actually descendents of his family . . . his real family. It had been thirty-five years since he had been awakened in this time. At first, all he had been consumed with had been the pursuit of the life he had been locked away from nearly two hundred years before . . . that was until she had entered his life. How long it had taken him to realize his true feelings for Dr. Julia Hoffman. She had come to Collinwood to investigate the kidnapping of her patient, Maggie Evans, and had discovered his terrible secret; but rather than report or destroy him, she had dedicated herself entirely to curing him . . . and when that had proven fruitless, she remained at his side, accepting him for what he was. From there they had traveled together through time itself, probing the past – and even the future, he reminded himself – to rescue this latest generation of Collinses from the sins of their fathers' pasts. They had succeeded; and here, around this very table, sat the fruits of their labors. Julia would be very happy.  
"So, Barnabas," Roger spoke, breaking Barnabas' train of thought, "how did it feel waking up as master of Collinwood this morning?"  
Barnabas knew that the bequest of the estate to him had bothered Roger, and now his shock had given way to bitterness . . . and the attack would begin.  
"I assure you, Roger," Barnabas would not meet his parry, "I woke up much as I have every morning since my return to the estate nearly sixteen years ago."  
The answer seemed to pacify Roger . . . for now. David looked from his father, to Barnabas, and back to his plate.  
"Well, where is Carolyn this morning?" Maggie asked, hoping to ease the mounting tension in the room.  
"Hmmph," David held back a laugh, "I'm sure she's sleeping off the ten or more bourbons she downed at dinner last night, wouldn't you say, father?"  
"I should say so, I've never seen Carolyn drink so much," Roger looked at Barnabas again. He knew that it had been the will that had brought on Carolyn's drinking spree last night. She had fully expected to inherit the estate, but her mother had had other plans . . . or had they been her plans at all?  
"I'm sure she will be down soon," Barnabas wished to change the subject from its current inappropriateness. He looked down the table to Carolyn's two teenage children, who were watching the discussion of their mother with obvious concern. Young Jeb, the oldest, was nearly fifteen now. No one had known his father, and rumor had it that Carolyn might not know who it was herself. Her other child, Victoria was thirteen, and every bit the image of her mother. Carolyn had met her father just shortly after having Jeb, and they'd married almost instantly. That had been the wedge that came down between Carolyn and her mother. Bob had been a Presbyterian minister, and a poverty-stricken one at that. It was not his profession that Elizabeth had objected to, but, rather, his inability to provide for Carolyn and her new – illegitimate – child. He had died only a couple of years ago, leaving Carolyn and the children penniless; and although Elizabeth begged them to return to Collinwood, Carolyn would have none of it. She had always been so stubborn.  
Quentin walked in with his usual smile covering his face. He came over first and kissed Maggie on the hand before filling his plate and taking the seat just to the right of Barnabas.  
"Good morning, all," Quentin chimed, "and isn't it a beautiful morning?"  
"Indeed, it is," Barnabas answered, sipping his coffee.  
"Now that does surprise me, cousin," here it came, "You never did strike me as much of a 'morning person'." This time, Barnabas' knowing stare came with a smile attached. As much as he found Quentin's constant inside-jokes to be inappropriate, he couldn't help but enjoy them from time to time. However, when he looked back toward the others, he caught another knowing stare being shared between Roger and David. Did they know? Barnabas wondered. Nonsense, how could they?! It was then that Charles Collins came into the room. Filling his plate quickly, he apologized for sleeping so late and immediately sat down, his face buried in his breakfast. "Eat quickly, son," David chided, "Father and I want to leave for Bangor as soon as possible." "I'm not going with you back to Bangor," Charles couldn't look at his father. "Whatever do you mean, 'not going'?", Roger joined the conversation. "Just what I said, Grandfather," Charles looked over at Barnabas, "If it's alright with you, Cousin Barnabas, I'd really like to stay on the estate for awhile." Roger and David both stared holes through poor Charles. Barnabas could not believe their manners, "Of course, Charles, you may stay as long as you like. Collinwood is our home; it has always been so, and will always remain so," that last bit had been for the benefit of poor Jeb and Victoria more so than the adults. "So be it," Roger said as he wiped his mouth with his napkin before standing, "If you will all excuse me, I'll be going upstairs to gather my things." "I'll join you," David eagerly left with his father. Although Barnabas, Quentin, and Maggie could not read eachothers' thoughts, if they had been able to, they would have seen that they were all thinking the same thing: when had David become so blindly obedient?! "So, young Charles," Quentin quickly said to lighten the mood, "what interests you so about the Great House of Collinwood?" "Oh, I've found it quite interesting," Charles said, feeling much more at ease since the departure of his father and grandfather, "in fact, Cousin Barnabas, I was wondering if I could bother you with a few questions concerning the Old House." That name piqued Barnabas' interest, "The Old House?" "Yes," Charles answered, "I went to the site of the ruins yesterday afternoon." "I'm actually surprised any ruins remain after all this time," Quentin joined the conversation, looking at Barnabas, but not as amused as he had been before. "Oh, they exist, alright," Charles was anxious to get to his question, "and I found something there that nearly frightened me to death." "That sounds like the Old House, alright," Quentin's joviality returned as quickly as it had left. "So, what did you find that was so interesting, Charles," Barnabas was both anxious and nervous to hear his answer. "A coffin," Charles replied as he looked from Barnabas, to Quentin, and back again. "A coffin?" Barnabas' question was not laced with as much incredulousness as Charles would have expected. "Yes," Charles replied, no longer sure he had been wise to ask, "a coffin." "Well, son," Quentin raised his coffee cup, looked at Barnabas and back to Charles, "welcome to Collinwood."  
  
The first thing Magdalena was conscious of when she awoke was the pressure she felt at her wrist. It felt as if two points were pressing into her flesh. She gazed up at the morning sky, afraid to look down at her wrist. What was it that attacked me?! The young gypsy distinctly remembered the yellow eyes of her attacker . . . and the animalistic fangs. Was the creature still here? Was the pressure she felt actually the animal itself, holding her in its teeth like some kind of plaything. Unable to stand the not knowing any longer . . . she looked down . . .  
Nothing.  
She reached across with her other hand to feel her wrist. Her left hand was asleep, but she could definitely feel something pressuring her wrist. Her bracelet! Her silver bracelet. It had been punctured at two points. Whatever had done it had not penetrated the silver and gone into her wrist, but it had definitely left two gouge marks in the metal. Had her attacker bitten into the bracelet, perhaps injuring itself and ran away? It seemed so unlikely...  
Magdalena tried to stand. It was daylight, and she wasn't ready to be seen on the estate just yet. As she stood, she felt a sharp object slice into her breast...  
"Ouch!" She looked down. It was her pentagram. Her mother had always been adamant about her wearing her pentagram...  
  
"Wear it, Magdalena!" Magda had warned her rebellious daughter. "Do you not understand that there is evil in the world?!"  
"Mother..." had been Magdalena's only response.  
"Listen to me, child," whenever her mother referred to her as child, Magdalena knew that there would be no opportunity for debate. Her mother was a beautiful woman. Of course, most gypsy women were renowned for their beauty. Her long black hair and dark skin just complemented her big, green eyes. She always wore traditional "gypsy" clothes. Magdalena's thoughts were interrupted with the continued scolding of her mother...  
"You have not seen evil in its many forms!", Magda said, "I have!" One example of that evil, Magdalena would later learn, was the infamous Count Petofi. He had been an enemy of the gypsy people – and the Romano tribe in particular – for over a century. In the mid-eighteenth century, Petofi had attempted to use his mysterious powers – which he manifested through his right hand – to wipe out much of the Romano tribe. The reason for his hatred had been lost with antiquity, but it existed nonetheless. When he had been unsuccessful, the tribe captured him and cut off his hand. They had been the caretakers of the hand ever since.  
In 1897, Magda had stolen the hand to cure Quentin Collins, cousin of Barnabas Collins, of a curse that she, herself, had placed on him out of a fit of anger; but the hand had not worked... and it was not long before Count Petofi himself – inexplicably still alive, but very old – had come to Collinsport to retrieve his hand. He was successful.  
Magdalena did not know much of what happened after that point. From what she was able to ascertain, however, the battle against Petofi had eventually resulted in the deaths of King Johnny Romano, a gypsy girl, Julianka, and Magdalena's father, Sandor Rakosi. In the end, Petofi escaped. All due to the power that Barnabas Collins had held over her parents...  
  
Thoughts of her unsuspecting nemesis brought Magdalena back to the present – or the future, depending on how one was to look at it. She looked around the grounds of the estate. Maine really was quite beautiful this time of year, and Collinwood was certainly no exception to that rule. What was she going to do? Revenge had brought her to the estate – a century ago, she laughed – to hunt and kill the vampyre, Barnabas Collins. Now, here she was, but no vampyre. Now she was a girl out of her time. The nineteenth-century gypsy girl knew nothing of this time she now occupied, and knew of no way to return to her own. Perhaps she should go ahead with her plan to present herself to Barnabas Collins as a hopeful maidservant. At least that would guarantee her some food and shelter until she could figure out what to do. It would also give her closer access to this mysterious Mr. Collins. If he was the vampyre she had come here to destroy, why was he no longer a vampyre? And, more importantly, if he was the same man, and was no longer a vampyre, did she still have the right to mete out vengeance against him?  
These are all things I can decide later, Magdalena decided. She held her pentagram in her hand. There are other creatures to fear on Collinwood than an old man. Magdalena dusted off her skirt... her skirt...  
From what she had seen observing the women who had come to the estate for the funeral, the clothes of the twenty-first century were very different from her traditional gypsy skirts, which she always put on when coming to visit her parents. She must find appropriate clothing.  
The blonde lady, Magdalena remembered, the daughter of the woman who died! That was the answer. She would "borrow" some clothes from the woman, and when – or, God forbid, if – the blonde lady left, Magdalena would present herself to Barnabas Collins.  
Her plans set, she proceeded for the Great House. She would have to hide a few more days at the very least in the kitchen, but she could handle that. The dark beauty stayed close to the treeline until she could make it to the morning shadows of the house, unaware that the rustling in the trees beside her was caused by more than just the wind descending from the cliffs of Widow's Hill.  
  
Vial Stone watched the girl until she had ducked into the rear door of the house. God, she's beautiful, he thought to himself, glad that the night had passed and the girl was still alive. As usual, he had awakened with no memory of the night's events, but relieved that there was no blood on his clothes or hands. He sat under a giant red oak still looking in the direction of the girl. His jeans were ripped and muddy. His bare feet sore from a nights' prowling. As he massaged them, he noticed something different than the infinite other "morning afters"... his teeth ached.  
He ran his tongue over his right and left incisors. They were definitely aching. Hmmph, he thought, looking once more in the direction of the girl, must know something I don't. Whatever it was that had caused the creature – and he had to remind himself that it was a creature, and not himself – to not attack the girl, he was glad for it.  
Stone got up and headed back toward the road. Even in "normal" form, he had noticed that his directional and survival instincts were heightened over what they had been before this curse had claimed him. He could see farther and clearer than anyone he knew, and his hearing had become so sensitive that he could literally hear how fast a person's heart was beating. Perhaps his most impressive improvement was his sense of smell. Once he was with someone for any length of time, that person's scent was forever imbedded in his mind; to the point that if they were to approach him years later, he would know whom they were before they even got close. All of that was thanks to his curse.  
His curse, it seemed odd to still think of it as that. It had been almost ten years since his first transformation. Nine people had died that first night. Slowly, over time, he had put two and two together and come up with the answer... he was a werewolf. It still sounded silly to him. A werewolf! He had since done a great deal of study on the affliction of lycanthrope. He had even traveled to southern Mexico where an entire family in one village suffered from the disease, but his was more than a disease.  
Lycanthropes suffered from, technically, an overabundance of body hair. In the Middle Ages, they were so feared that they were forced to scavenge for food only at night. However, during the full cycle of the moon, the greater ambient light at night caused them to be recognizable to the locals, and the "werewolf" legend had been borne... or so science thought.  
Stone's affliction, however, was right out of the classic horror films of the 1930's. From reports he had read in newspapers in the days after his transformations, combined with the physical evidence he always seemed to wake up with, it appeared that Stone actually transformed into some manner of animal. The blood he always found on his mouth, hands, and clothes, along with the dirt, tree bark, and – presumably – skin under his fingernails and toenails all testified to the fact that what he existed as during the full moon was anything but human.  
Within the hour, he was safely back in his car. He grabbed some fresh clothes and his shaving kit from the trunk and headed back into the woods to a creek he had spotted on his way out. Want to look fresh for Daddy, don't I?, he thought almost malevolently as he shaved by the side of the creek. He would meet Quentin Collins within the hour. There were so many questions he needed answered. He just hoped he could allow Mr. Collins to answer them before he gave into the impulse to tear him apart.  
As he splashed water on his face to rinse off the last remnants of shaving cream and stubble, he looked up at the beautiful sky above the tree line. Two more days of the Full Moon cycle, he had to remind himself. Wouldn't it be poetic justice if his long overdue conversation with Mr. Quentin Collins lasted till nightfall...  
  
The morning wind was brisk along the path to the site of the Old House. Quentin had driven the car as far as it could travel, and he, Barnabas, and young Charles had proceeded down the narrowing path to the burnt remains of Barnabas' former residence. Quentin had been against the idea of coming out here to follow up on the boy's curiosities; but Barnabas had been adamant in his insistence in coming. He watched his old friend, wondering what memories this path brought back to him. Many years ago, Barnabas had to travel this path on his nightly hunts for that which he required to sustain himself... blood. Unlike Quentin's own brand of immortality, Barnabas' came with a dreadful curse attached. The curse of the vampire.  
  
As Quentin recalled from his talks with Barnabas, the year had been 1795, and a then young Barnabas Collins was due to wed the lovely Josette DuPres of Martinique. Unfortunately, one of Barnabas' past sins, a lovely young blonde by the name of Angelique Bouchard, also came with Josette to Collinwood. The girl had been an amusement of Barnabas' during some of his excursions to Martinique. Little had he known that his conquest was also a servant to the Countess Natalie DuPres, the aunt of Josette. Angelique had come to Collinwood believing the beautiful things that Barnabas had told her just prior to her "deflowering"; assured that once he saw her, any thoughts of marrying Josette would immediately leave. That had not been the case...  
Scorned by her lover, Angelique proceeded to raise Hell itself. In her short life, she had studied a great deal in the "black arts", and had used them on many occasions. Using her magic, Angelique cast a spell causing Josette to fall madly in love with Barnabas' young uncle, Jeremiah Collins. Rejected by his love, Barnabas challenged Jeremiah to a duel... and killed him. He then turned to Angelique, granting her wish of marriage; but Barnabas Collins was no one's fool...  
His servant, Ben Stokes, who had learned of Angelique's treachery early on, helped Barnabas to figure out what had happened. Enraged at her meddling, Barnabas tried to kill his new bride by poison, and, later, by musket shot. The angry, dejected witch then cast a spell of hatred on Barnabas: that he would live to see all those he loved...die. Unbeknownst to Angelique, the curse brought with it one of immortality as a creature of the night. Over the next few weeks, Barnabas had, indeed, been forced to witness the deaths of his mother, sister, and even Josette, herself. Unable to accept the monster his son had become, Joshua Collins, father to Barnabas, ordered Stokes to chain the coffin shut during Barnabas' daytime slumber and hide him in a secret room in the family crypt. There he remained until finally being released in the year 1967 by the nefarious ne'er do well – and attempted grave robber – Willie Loomis.  
With Willie as his blood-slave, Barnabas introduced himself as a distant cousin – descendant of the "original" Barnabas Collins from the eighteenth-century – to the current generation of Collinses: Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard and her daughter Carolyn; Elizabeth's brother, Roger Collins and his son David; and the family governess, Victoria Winters. With some coaxing, he had been able to convince Elizabeth to allow him to occupy "the Old House", which had been his own home prior to his "death". He lived there in those early months consumed with the idea of finding a girl to create as his vampire bride, and mold in Josette's image. All of that changed with the arrival of Dr. Julia Hoffman, the woman who would not only save Barnabas' life; but also... his soul.  
  
"That's where I found it, over there...", Charles pointed to the middle of the rubble as he called back to his aged companions.  
Quentin looked from his thoughts to his cousin, tired from the long walk down a path that no doubt brought with it nightmarish memories. "Are you alright, Barnabas?"  
"Yes, Quentin, thank you, I'm fine." Barnabas looked around the clearing at the rubble that had once been his home. "Where exactly did you say you found this coffin, Charles?"  
"It's here, under this bookcase," Charles moved to lift the bookcase out of the way. Quentin – unsure of whether to help or not – finally moved to assist the boy in his search.  
The two men lifted and shoved aside the bookcase, revealing for the first time in a generation that which lie beneath...  
There was a long box with brass handles, but nowhere near the size of a coffin. Charles looked amazed, and more than a little embarrassed. Quentin looked from the small box to his cousin, mouthing the word that – for him – explained the situation best... Willie.  
Barnabas gave Quentin another knowing nod and smile. "It would appear, young Charles, that you have allowed the old legends of this house to run away with your imagination."  
Charles could say nothing but, "I... I... I was sure that what I saw was a coffin!"  
"Ah, son, don't worry about it," Quentin quickly ran with Barnabas' train of thought, "you hang around this place long enough, you'll start seeing all sorts of strange things; and from what I've heard, the ghosts are usually quite pretty." Quentin could testify to that.  
"Indeed, Collinwood has been known to have its share of strange occurrences over the years; but I don't believe anyone was of the habit of keeping coffins hidden behind secret panels."  
"Secret panels?" Charles was again intrigued.  
"Yes, the bookcase you moved was actually a doorway to one of the many hidden passages in the Old House. The Great House, as well, possesses many of those hidden corridors. Our ancestors did seem to enjoy their little secrets." Barnabas could tell from Quentin's concerned look that his cousin did not believe that he should be giving the boy so much to feed his curiosity.  
"Can you tell me more of the family history, Cousin Barnabas?"  
"I'd be happy to," Barnabas answered, pulling his waistcoat closer to him as the wind through the clearing gained momentum, "but preferably in more comfortable surroundings. Shall we three retire to the Great House? I'll have Willie prepare some tea."  
"Excellent idea, Cousin," Quentin dusted off his hands and stepped carefully over the rubble. "Nothing like hot tea and ghost stories to get the old blood pumping," then, stopping and giving it a second thought, "or getting a good heart attack going."  
Barnabas grinned at his cousin. How he had missed Quentin's sense of humor over the years. There still existed the question about Quentin's appearance. Obviously he had managed to expunge himself of both his curses and now enjoyed – as Barnabas himself did – the peace that came with mortality. He quickly brushed thoughts of asking Quentin aside, knowing that his old friend would tell all in his own good time. As Barnabas turned toward the path, he removed his cell phone from his coat to call the House... and to commend Willie on a job well done.  
  
Magdalena had watched the blonde lady, Carolyn, diligently from the hidden passage in the wall. The entire estate was crawling with these passages, unused for countless decades as the unending array of cobwebs testified. Over the weeks that the young gypsy had haunted these halls, she had come to know her way around the estate rather well. Once she presented herself to the family and – God willing – gained for herself a position as their house servant, her knowledge of the secret corridors would give her a tactical advantage over her intended prey... if, indeed, this Barnabas Collins was the vampyre she sought.  
Even in sleep, Carolyn appeared desperately sad; not so much for the loss of her mother... but, rather, for her life in general. She had been beautiful once, that much was clear; but a hard life filled with difficult choices had begun to rob her of the beauty of her youth. From what Magdalena had seen of her children, they appeared to be kind and gentle. Why, then, was their mother so discontent with her life?  
The room smelled of alcohol, at least a couple of different types; and, although Magdalena had as yet to find any evidence other than odor, it would appear that the lady's reverie of the night before had not agreed with her physically. She was unconscious. Or maybe, Magdalena thought, dead from alcohol poisoning.  
The young gypsy was, unfortunately, no stranger to the dangers of alcohol. Her roommate at college, Rebecca Turner, had been found dead in their room from an overdose of alcohol. It had been the Monday morning after that weekend's "open house". Her parents had been less than thrilled with her performance at school, and even less with her choice of friends... especially the "gypsy tramp". Magdalena had not known what Jessica's parents had said to her before leaving; but the next morning, Magdalena had been the one to find her body... gray, lifeless, and stinking of alcohol.  
Although she knew it might be a mistake, Magdalena could not simply steal this woman's clothes and scamper away like the thief her people were so often stereotyped as being. She approached the bed and bent close to see if she could see or hear any signs of life...  
Carolyn moved just then. Magdalena froze, not sure what to do, or where to jump; but it made no matter in the end. Carolyn's movement did not accompany a move toward consciousness... just a move away from the pool of vomit in which she had apparently been sleeping. Magdalena held her breath for fear of becoming nauseous herself. Relieved that the lady was not dead, the young gypsy returned to her mission. She searched through the dresser and found some appropriate clothing... at least, she hoped it was appropriate clothing; in this time it was so hard to tell.  
She crept toward the wall passage, but before doing so, she returned once more to the lady in the bed. Magdalena reached for a blanket on a nearby chair, folding it several times before using it to cover up the pool of bile and alcohol on the bed. At least the poor lady would not roll back into it again. She moved toward the passageway, giving one last look to Carolyn. She, herself, had had a strained relationship with her own mother. As Magdalena crouched into the darkness of the underbelly of Collinwood, she wondered to herself if that could not have been her lying in that bed had Fate not stepped in as it had and changed the course of her destiny.  
Holding her stolen clothing tight against her, Magdalena stepped into the darkness and pulled the passageway closed behind her. "Thank you, Carolyn," Magdalena whispered into the shadows.  
  
By the time the Collins men returned to the Great House, Willie had prepared the tea as Barnabas had requested. Over the years, Willie had grown quite capable in the manner of preparing tea in the Old World style... a trait that Barnabas had become increasingly thankful for. Originally, of course, it had not mattered what the tea had tasted like... at least not to Barnabas. Although he had frequently faked it in those early years at Collinwood, Barnabas was only able to digest one liquid... blood. Any other food or beverage merely left him with massive digestive cramps. Since his return from the year 1840, when the curse of the vampire had been lifted from him by the very person who had inflicted him with it, Barnabas had grown to enjoy and appreciate all of the minute blessings of mortal life... not the least of which was his beloved Earl Grey.  
Willie served Charles and Quentin before finally serving his employer. Barnabas watched as Willie performed his duties like a trained manservant. Thirty-five years ago, when Willie had inadvertently released Barnabas from his chained coffin – his prison for nearly two centuries – he had been little more than a common thief and grave robber. It had, in fact, been the stories of the jewels buried with Naomi Collins, Barnabas' own mother, which had brought Willie to the Collins mausoleum. That night, Willie Loomis became Barnabas' "blood slave". After two centuries, Barnabas was weakened to the point of destruction, and required nearly every drop of Willie's blood to bring himself fully to "life". When a mortal was drained to that degree by a vampire, he had only two courses of action open to him: either to drink from the vampire, die, and become one of the undead; or to succumb to the vampire's every whim in a kind of living hypnosis. Barnabas had, benevolently, given him no choice; but, rather, chosen for him. No one at Collinwood had been able to understand why a proper English gentleman like Barnabas would hire such a degenerate as a house servant... or why Willie would take the job. In the years that followed, however, Willie had proven time and again, not only to be a valuable and able servant, but also to be a trusted and valued friend. "So," Charles broke the silence with the first of the hundred-or-so questions running through his mind, "tell me, Cousin Barnabas, what kind of treasure do I have here?" Barnabas looked at the box in Charles' lap. It was a rather large and ornate box, covered with numerous engravings... "each with a different meaning", Barnabas recalled from the description given to him by the woman who had brought the cursed box to Collinwood to begin with. "The box is gypsy in origin," Barnabas began, cautious not to look at Quentin, who would no doubt be wondering just how far into the truth Barnabas would take the tale. "It is rumored to have at one time possessed the mystical 'Hand of Count Petofi'." "Hand?" Charles looked from Barnabas to the box, "What do you mean 'Hand'?" "Just what I've said. In the late 1800's, Collinsport was home to a gypsy tribe; and one of the gypsy couples lived at the Old House as servants to one of my ancestors... another Barnabas Collins. "The box was brought to the estate by the gypsy woman, Magda Rakosi; and allegedly held the disembodied hand of a centuries-old East European Count by the name of Andreas Petofi." "Why would she bring a disembodied hand to Collinwood?" "Who's to say? I could not even tell you if the rumored hand truly existed... or where it might be today. Those are facts that are lost to us through the annals of antiquity. I merely know the legend of what the box is... and what it was allegedly used for." "Oh," Charles was more than a little disappointed. "Then there's really no way of ever finding out." He ran his fingers over the engravings of the box. "I'm afraid not, but such is the nature of history, young Charles. Even a family with such a meticulously recorded and orally-kept history as the Collins family possesses those secrets that may never be revealed." Quentin – finally calmed by Barnabas' explanation – joined the conversation, "Besides, with all the fascinating legends that we do know about, a gypsy superstition seems pale by comparison." "Who lived in the Old House?" Charles decided that the story behind his treasure was not worth investigating... for now. "It was built in 1652 by Isaiah Collins, who founded Collinsport as well as the family business that same year. It existed as the main house of Collinwood until completion of this house in 1796 by Jeremiah and Joshua Collins. When both men died, the estate reverted to their nephew, Daniel Collins. My ancestor, the original Barnabas Collins, had left Collinsport for England after a falling out with his father and uncle. His son, the second Barnabas, returned in 1840 and lived in the Old House for a while with his sister Julia and his wife, Valerie. They left a few months later, however, after Valerie had been killed for being a suspected witch. In 1897, their son, the third Barnabas Collins returned for a short while and lived in the Old House as his ancestors had. On his departure back to England, the house remained vacant until I arrived in Collinsport more than thirty years ago. Your Aunt Elizabeth kindly allowed me to move into the Old House as my ancestors had." "And you lived there until it burned down?" "Yes. It burned down just prior to my getting married." "How did it burn down?" "Oh, it was a very old house, Charles, over three-hundred years old. The question is not so much 'how did it burn' as 'how had it not for so long'. I admit a certain degree of melancholy with its destruction. When it died, a part of me died along with it." "And all the people who lived there were named 'Barnabas Collins'?" "Yes, I suppose they were." "How odd..." A knock at the front door interrupted the conversation. Barnabas started to rise to answer the door, but Quentin quickly stopped him. "Sit down, Cousin, I'll get it. I'm sure that you can answer any of this young man's questions far better than I could ever hope to." Quentin walked to the front portico and opened the door. A young man stood there – in front of a particularly beautiful vintage Mustang. He was about thirty-ish, with long sideburns and a thin, angular face. In fact, if Quentin didn't know better... "I'm looking for a Quentin Collins," the young man said. "Well look no further, lad, for I am he," Quentin flashed his most friendly smile... a smile that was met with a closed, hardened fist. Barnabas leapt to his feet at the sight of Quentin falling to the ground; a rather rustic young man standing over him. He watched Quentin rub his jaw and look up at the angry young man. The man looked down at Quentin with a snarl on his face, and fury in his eyes... "I'm home... Daddy." Quentin looked helplessly from his attacker to Barnabas, and could have sworn that what he saw on his cousin's face... was a smile.  
  
CHAPTER 3  
  
Before Roger and David had even reached Bangor, Roger received a phone call from the office. Whatever it was must have been important, David thought to himself, because as soon as he got off the phone, Roger ordered the driver to proceed to the office as quickly as possible. Collins Enterprises was one of the largest privately owned businesses in all of Maine. Consisting of shipyards, canneries, and other fisheries, the family empire stood much as it did when it was founded over three hundred years ago. Although David was now president of the company, Roger remained at the helm as CEO. Back in the '80's, the company had been forced to go public, with forty-nine percent of the company's stock up for sale. Neither David nor his father had liked it much, but it was the only way to stay competitive in an increasingly global market. The plan had worked well for a while, but in the last year or so, an unknown buyer had been buying large blocks of stock. Before long, this mystery buyer would be forced to reveal his identity, and both Collins men were as nervous as they were curious. If this mystery buyer obtained more than twenty-five percent, he would become the majority stockholder in the company, with the family's fifty-one percent divided between Roger and, now, Carolyn. If only Carolyn would consider Roger's and David's offer to buy her out! If she didn't, it was doubtful just how much longer the Collins family would control Collins Enterprises. "Something wrong, Father?," David asked. "It well could be," his father responded with a very serious expression on his worn and wrinkled face. David knew that Elizabeth's death had affected his father far deeper than he would ever show. When David was very young, Roger and Elizabeth had had a falling out, but they had mended their fences when Roger returned to Collinwood to help raise David. Until then, Elizabeth had been the only "parent" David had ever known. His mother, Laura, had disappeared shortly after David's birth, and Roger had left Collinwood soon thereafter. David had never been able to remember much about his mother, even her brief return when he was only ten years old. In recent years, however, all had come back to him, thanks in no small part to Dr. Jacobs.  
  
Through hypnosis sessions, David had been able to recall a great deal from his childhood at Collinwood... more, actually, than he had ever intended or wanted. His mother, he discovered, was not a creature of this world. She was – according to her own accounts – an immortal phoenix. A creature of fire, she resurrected once every century to procreate for the purpose of providing a human sacrifice to her god, Ra. This had all sounded completely ridiculous to David at the time, but Dr. Jacobs seemed unperturbed at the notion. The supernatural was a hobby of his, and David's case had certainly given him a full helping of that. From his encounter with his mother, the disappearance of his governess, Victoria Winters, during a séance, and his numerous encounters with the ghosts of Collinwood – most notably Josette Collins, Sarah Collins, Quentin Collins, Jamison Collins, and Gerard Stiles – the good Dr. Jacobs had gotten more paranormal subject-matter than television FBI Agents Mulder and Scully. The most horrifying, however, was the truth about Barnabas Collins. Even more frightening than the truth about his mother, the story of Barnabas still sent chills down David's back. It had been the ghost of Sarah Collins, the young sister of Barnabas, who had shown David the hidden crypt in which Barnabas had been imprisoned for so long; and it was she who had shown him where Barnabas' coffin resided in the Old House. Despite Dr. Jacob's suggestion to the contrary, David had shared all he had learned with his father. Roger, surprisingly, showed little amazement at any of the revelations except that of Barnabas. "It makes a great deal of sense when one actually sits and contemplates it," his father had initially said. Obviously, however, whatever Barnabas had been, he now was not. For as far as David could remember, Barnabas had interacted with the family in the light of day; and he had certainly aged accordingly, which one of his kind should not be able to do. "What should we do, Father," David had asked. "Do?," Roger responded, "What can we do, David? Whatever Barnabas is or was, he has repeatedly shown his devotion to all of us over the years; not to mention the number of times he has placed his own life on the line for you in particular." That had certainly been true enough. "No," he continued, "we shall keep this little tid-bit to ourselves... and use it should the need arise. Information, son, is the most valuable commodity in the world. Never forget that."  
  
"So, what's up?" David asked, getting back to the matter at hand. "Our mystery investor," Roger responded. "Was Malloy able to discover who it was?" Bob Malloy was Roger's chief information gatherer. His father had once run the cannery in Collinsport. "Malloy can take some time off now," Roger turned from the window to meet David's confused stare, "our mystery man is sitting in our office... right now."  
  
"This supposed to be you?" Stone asked, looking at the portrait of Barnabas Collins in the front portico of Collinwood. Quentin had excused himself to attend his bleeding lip, and Charles had politely excused himself to parts unknown. Barnabas remained alone with the angry young man. "My ancestor, actually," Barnabas lied. "Pretty strong resemblance." "It's often commented upon. I might say the same for you. It's not uncommon for wealthy men such as Quentin to be inundated by claims of paternity... but in your case, the resemblance removes all doubt." "You'll have to forgive me if I don't take that as a compliment." "Why do you hate him so?" "If you don't mind..." "Oh, do forgive me, my name is Barnabas... Barnabas Collins," Barnabas extended his hand. Stone took the proffered greeting, "Well, if you don't mind, Mr. Collins, I'd prefer to take that up with him." "As you wish, I certainly didn't mean to pry. It's just that Quentin and I have been friends for a very long time." "Collins... you related?" "Cousins... distant cousins." Quentin came back into the room, dabbing his mouth with a wet towel. "I have to admit, it's been a long time since I've had a greeting like that." "I'll leave the two of you alone," Barnabas politely offered, "If you'll excuse me." "That's okay, Barnabas, stay," Quentin stopped his old friend, "I may need some back-up here." "When don't you?" Barnabas smiled. "Well, let's move into the drawing room then. May I offer you anything, young man?" "No thanks, I've already had my treat for the day," Stone answered, rubbing his fist and smiling at Quentin.  
  
Charles used the raucous at Collinwood as an excuse to step out, and head back to the Old House. The story of the box had been intriguing, but he felt like there were even more interesting treasures awaiting him in the old ruins. He just knew that what he had originally seen was a coffin... and he was determined to prove himself right.  
As he walked down the path to the burnt remains, he took in the beautiful scenery of Collinwood, Maine, in the morning. The bare trees, just beginning to bud with Spring's first blossoms, swayed in the frigid air, the brown leaves – the last remnants of the long winter – blowing across the massive lawns and narrow paths of the estate. The young Collins thought about all that his cousin had told him about the Old House. Four generations... all named Barnabas Collins... and all living for some time in that house... what were the odds?!  
Charles came into the clearing and looked around. He saw the dilapidated fireplace where he had found the old portrait of Barnabas. Before he had left, Charles' father, David, had reluctantly agreed to carry the portrait back to Bangor to have it restored. Charles loved the time he spent alone with his father, just as he loved the time spent alone with his grandfather; but whenever the two were together, the tension between them could easily cool any room. Each was warm in his own way; but neither felt they could be so in the presence of the other. Charles had never understood their relationship... and doubted that he ever would.  
He turned toward the shattered remains of the staircase, its banister charred, but still salvageable. This house had stood for over three centuries, and it's burnt remains had lay exposed to the elements for three decades more, and so much of it was still recognizable as having been a viable part of a home. What craftsmen had been responsible for such a formidable structure? Surely no buildings built today would ever be able to claim such a lifespan.  
Charles kicked aside debris as he walked through the wreckage. At one point, just beyond the staircase, he saw what could only be described as... an eye. His heart raced as he reached for whatever it was. He felt more than a little ridiculous when it turned out only to be a doll... a toy soldier to be exact.  
"God, how old is this?!" The young man wondered aloud.  
Very...  
Charles turned quickly. What was that?! He had clearly heard someone answer his question... but who?  
"Hello?! Who's there?!"  
No one.  
He turned back to look at the doll... and immediately his mind was inundated with a massive influx of images... a little girl... an old musket pistol... a blue-eyed woman... a... a... a bat! Charles dropped the toy soldier and grabbed his head. He turned and sat down in the rubble, his mind spinning. What is happening to me?! Charles Collins thought as he tightened his grip around his head. When am I going to learn to leave this place alone?!!!  
  
The man waiting outside Roger and David's offices at Collins Enterprises was nothing at all what either had anticipated. A rather young man, possibly even young enough to have been Charles' age, he sat reading today's Wall Street Journal. Even sitting, it was obvious that he was very tall. He had short, conservative dark hair, strong facial features, and deep, penetrating dark eyes. The only thing about him that didn't quite seem to fit was a black glove, which he wore on his right hand. The dark mystery man stood as Roger and David exited the elevator. "Mr. Collins?" the stranger asked, extending his left hand. "Yes, I'm Roger Collins, and this is my son, David. Do forgive us for not being here to greet you ourselves, but..." "Think nothing of it, sir. Your lovely secretary has explained to me of the recent death of your sister. Allow me to express my condolences." "Thank you." Roger had to admit that he was impressed with the young man. "Well, would you like to follow me to my office?" "Yes, of course, I feel we have a great deal to discuss." Collins Enterprises' headquarters resided in the largest building in Bangor. One of Maine's oldest and most influential families deserved nothing less, after all. Roger's office had a spectacular view of the entire city. He was quite proud of it, and of the stature that it expressed to any and all visitors. David's office, at the other end of the hall, was almost as impressive... almost. As the three men entered the CEO's office, Roger motioned for his guest to sit down opposite his desk. He then looked at David, who then offered their mystery guest a drink. "No thank you, to be honest, I am in a bit of a rush this morning. Allow me to get things rolling, as they say, by introducing myself. My name is Andrew... Andrew Petrof. As you no doubt have figured out by now, I am the mystery buyer who has been buying Collins stock in such large blocs over the last few months." "Yes, we had figured that out." Roger was waiting for the other shoe to drop. "Well, I felt it only ethical to present myself to you today, because on opening bell Monday morning, my position in the company will pass the thirty-percent threshold." Any purchase of corporate stock could be done privately and anonymously until the said investor's position exceeded thirty-percent, at which time, the said buyer was expected to make himself and his intentions known to the stockholders. "Well, that does make you a very important visitor, indeed," Roger did his best to hide his concern, but, somehow, he felt that this man could see right through him. "You can imagine my surprise when I arrived and learned of the death of your sister, Mr. Collins. Not to sound too crass, but may I assume that your sister has left her interest in the company to you?" "Actually, no, her bequest went to her daughter, Carolyn; but I can assure you that the Collins stock will continue to vote as one bloc." "I'm glad to hear it. Although, if you will forgive my forwardness, I have taken the liberty of investigating the Collins family rather intently. Understandable when you consider the massive amounts of money I have invested in Collins Enterprises. It is the opinion both of myself and my financial advisors that the alliance within the Collins family is not entirely stable with Carolyn as a partner." "'Forward' doesn't begin to describe that comment, if you don't mind my saying, Mr. Petrof." David was always touchy on the subject of his family, especially Carolyn, who had always been more of a sister than a cousin. His father, however, gave him a stern look of disapproval at his outburst. "I assure you, Mr. Petrof, that David and I are even now in negotiations with Carolyn to buy out her shares in the company, and I foresee no problem in acquiring them at a reasonable price." "Mr. Collins, allow me to show you the courtesy of being blunt. I believe that Collins control of Collins Enterprises is in real jeopardy; and I believe that I can assist you in securing your position against future attempts at outside control." David could hardly believe his ears. This man had gone to all the trouble and expense of acquiring thirty percent of Collins stock only to turn around and sell it back to the family to prevent others from gaining control. Why? "And why would you do that?" Roger had obviously thought the same as David. Had Roger been able to read David's mind, he would have seen that this revelation was nearly as surprising to David as had been Mr. Petrof's offer. "Because, Mr. Collins, I have no real interest in your company, and am willing to sell to you all of the stock I have acquired in exchange for that which I truly desire." "And that would be what, exactly?" This was going to be a very large shoe. "Why... Collinwood, Mr. Collins," Count Petofi brought his handsome young face to a broad, evil smile, "for the Great Estate of Collinwood."  
  
Quentin and Stone stood on the terrace overlooking the massive front lawn of Collinwood. Barnabas, despite Quentin's pleas, had excused himself for a nap. He admitted to being no great fan of the bright light of mid-day. Some habits never die, eh, Cousin, Quentin had thought to himself. Now, as he looked at this young man who claimed to be his son, Quentin was increasingly sure that he was, in fact, telling the truth. It was almost like looking into a mirror... a thirty-year old mirror; but if it were true, then this boy must carry the curse of the werewolf... as all his male descendents were doomed to. How on earth could he ever broach the subject? "Something you wanna share with me?" Stone interrupted his train of thought. "Just trying to remember, that's all." It was true that Quentin had no memory of this boy's mother, or anything for that matter, concerning the life he led as Grant Douglas. "I realize it must sound like some kind of cheap cop-out, but I honestly have no memory of my life before the accident that brought back my memory of being Quentin Collins. I am sorry. From what you've said, your mother and I must have been very happy together. Why would she not try to find me?" "I imagine she felt that if you were willing to go to such lengths to walk out on her, why should she?" Stone was still not quite sure how much he believed this Quentin Collins. Barnabas had seemed to be a sincere person, and a truly devoted friend to his father. As he looked at his Old Man, Stone could not quite bring himself to maintain the hatred he'd felt as recently as this morning. He wanted to – God, how he wanted to – but he was beginning to believe that this man was telling the truth... and how could he blame a man for something that he had no conscious memory of doing? "Well, tell me about yourself. Here I've had a son all these years and never knew it. What do you do? What are your interests... besides vintage cars, that is," Quentin was impressed with his son's taste in cars. He looked down at the beautiful candy-apple red mustang in the driveway. "I'm not here to answer questions." That wasn't entirely true. He wanted to tell his father everything. He wanted to tell him of the nights he lay awake, crying, praying that his father would return to him. He wanted to tell him how his mother had never loved another man. He wanted to tell him of this curse that paralyzed him every month. However, he just couldn't bring himself to overtly open up to this stranger... not just yet. "Okay, then, what kind of questions do you have for me? My life's an open book – what I remember of it, anyway – so fire away! I mean it, I'm prepared to answer anything..." That wasn't entirely true. Would he tell his son what it was like the night that the H.M.S. Titanic had gone down off the coast of Newfoundland? Would he tell his son what it had been like to assist Dr. Carter in opening the tomb of King Tut? Would he tell his son about all the war stories he'd heard as the personal driver to General George S. Patton in North Africa? Then again, this young man would never come up with such bizarre questions. No, Quentin thought to himself, I believe I'm prepared to answer anything this young man might want to know. "Do you happen to enjoy occasionally baying at the moon?" Stone's sarcasm was matched with a look of anger and resentment. Well, Quentin thought as he fought to keep the horror from his expression, maybe not anything.  
  
The corner of the Drawing Room of Collinwood, directly opposite a beautiful grand piano, was yet another secret doorway to the maze of tunnels and passageways that existed within the walls of the Great House. Magdalena had just spent the last hour-or-so sitting in that doorway, cracking it open just enough for her to gain a decent view of the room. She had watched most of the morning's events. She had watched as the manservant – Willie, she believed was his name – served tea to his master, Barnabas Collins, and the other Collins men. The young gypsy girl listened to the tale of the Petofi box. Why would my mother have taken such a risk for the Collinses... unless she had been forced to by the vampyre. She still could not determine whether this Barnabas was, indeed the man she had sought or a descendent of that man... but the more she observed him interacting with the other denizens of the estate, the more she was convinced that this man was a man of character, an honest and noble man who had obviously lived a hard life in the defense of his family. He was becoming more and more a man that she looked very much forward to meeting... and to helping. The younger Collins was rather attractive, she had to admit to herself. He was thin, but intelligent-looking. He wore glasses, had a short, conservative haircut, dressed as conservatively as he kept his hair, and – for all intents and purposes – could have fit in as easily in Magdalena's own time as in this one. Barnabas was also attractive, for an older man. If she had to guess, she would estimate Barnabas to be in his mid-to-late seventies. A full head of white hair sat conservatively over a rigidly stern expression. He had a large nose, but it seemed to suit his aristocratic bearing. When he walked, he leaned heavily on a beautiful cane with a silver wolf's head as a handle. Although he rarely left the house, he always wore a full suit and tie, as a true gentleman would. On his right hand, he wore a large ring – obviously very old – with a large black onyx stone, a symbol, perhaps, of his wealth and heritage. Although he struggled at even the simplest tasks, another sign of his advanced age, Magdalena had been surprised at how quickly he had jumped to his feet to defend the other gentleman – Quentin? – from his would-be attacker... as if jumping to the younger man's defense were something he had always done... and always would. The attacker soon became an invited guest. She hadn't been able to hear all that had transpired in the portico, but whatever it was had resulted in the new arrival being warmly accepted by Barnabas. This latest guest was another young man, probably thirty-ish. Completely unlike the others present, this man wore clothes that Magdalena would more closely relate to a worker of some sort. His pants were rugged. His shirt was more formal than the pants, but still far from being called conservative. He had lightish-brown hair, and bright blue eyes – blue enough that Magdalena could see them clearly even from her limited vantage point. He wore long sideburns, as many aristocratic men of her own time did, but on this young man, it appeared to be more a statement of individuality. Although not as physically attractive as his contemporary in the room, he carried an air of strength about him... Magdalena could feel his self-assuredness from across the room. This man had a noble streak in him... but she wasn't sure if he was even aware of it. As she looked from one gentleman to the next, she thought to herself, Well, if a girl has to find herself thrown askew in time, she couldn't have found a place with a better selection of male prospects. Although Magdalena had never been the type to "pursue" men – such a thing would be a disgrace to her family and to herself – she was not made of stone... and the young men of Collinwood appeared to hold all the attributes she had always found attractive in men: intelligence, strength, sophistication, and nobility. She had nearly forgotten her original mission to Collinwood, the destruction of the vampyre Barnabas Collins, and had already set her mind that she was a prisoner of this time... and the time was nearing for her to accept and move on with her life. She had closed the hatch quietly when Barnabas had excused himself for a nap. She walked carefully through the cobweb-infested corridors. She spent as much time pulling webbing from her hair as she had feeling her way along the corridors. Whenever the house had gained electricity, someone had at least had the foresight to incorporate dim lighting every fifty feet or so throughout the corridors. Without those, Magdalena was sure she would have gotten lost by now. One part of the passageway that always sent shivers up her spine was the jail cell. For whatever reason, someone had installed a cell of iron bars within these walls... for what ghastly reason the gypsy girl didn't even want to speculate; but whenever she had had the misfortune over the past several days to pass that cell, she couldn't take her eyes off of it until it was no longer within her range of vision. The dark-haired beauty finally made her way to the kitchen entrance... it had been here that the stairway she had originally climbed had led her; but that stairway no longer existed. Whatever evil had been at work with that mysterious staircase had chosen to stay silent since imprisoning her here in this future time. By habit, she looked around before moving again into the kitchen... looking in vain for her stairway... her ticket home. Once more disappointed, she slowly opened the door leading into the kitchen. Very soon she would not have to resort to this sneaking around. The clothes she had taken from Carolyn had fit perfectly, and were actually quite comfortable... much more so than the corset in which she was used to being imprisoned. As she secured the door shut from inside the kitchen, Magdalena felt that someone was close by... she could always tell when someone was near, a gypsy gift, no doubt. She turned to look for a place to hide, seeing only the back door that led to the massive yard outside. Magdalena headed for the door, figuring she could hide in the woods. Before going out, she looked back once more to make sure no one had seen her. Someone was in the dining area just past the kitchen door; Magdalena turned quickly to make her escape before whomever it was came her way. She opened the door... "Who the hell are you?!" The manservant! Magdalena turned instinctively back into the house to run away. Her discoverer followed, yelling for her to stop. She ran past the secret passage and toward the dining room, hoping beyond hope that whoever had been in there was gone. She ran through the door... right into an older lady. "Hold on there," the lady told her, grabbing her shoulders, but speaking and holding her gently, "we're not going to hurt you." "But who's to say she ain't gonna hurt us?!" Willie Loomis said as he came through the door. "Nonsense, Willie, she's just a child!" The lady turned again to Magdalena, "My name's Maggie... Maggie Evans. What's yours?" Magdalena didn't know what to do. She looked from this lady, Maggie, back to the manservant and back again. Could she trust these people? Should she fight and run away? If she did, there was no way she could return later. She looked past Willie into the kitchen at the door that had brought her here to begin with. The time-traveling gypsy girl wanted her mother! She wanted her father! She wanted anyone who could help her!!! Magdalena Rakosi looked once more at Willie Loomis' angry expression... then to Maggie Evans' kind smile...then she fainted into Ms. Evans' arms.  
  
"Who is she, Willie?" Maggie asked as Willie Loomis lay the girl on the bed in one of the bedrooms that had once been the servants' area. "How should I know?" Willie responded, a bit more harshly than he had intended. He'd been a loyal and trusted servant to the Collins family for decades, with his roguish past long behind him, and long forgiven by the residents of Collinwood; but to this day, he still got very nervous when questioned about anything... especially by Maggie Evans. It had been over thirty years since Willie had – and he still winced to remember it – released Barnabas from his coffin. His early years of working for Barnabas had entailed many gruesome tasks... accessory to kidnapping among them. When Barnabas had first seen Maggie Evans, he desperately wanted her for his vampire bride. According to Barnabas, Maggie held a strong resemblance to his true love, Josette. It was his intention to kidnap Maggie, convince her that she was in fact Josette, and then turn her into one of the undead... his companion in eternal damnation. And Willie would be along for the ride... as their servant in perpetuity. But Maggie had escaped. To this day, Maggie remembered nothing of her ordeal... but Willie was always nervous that some word or gesture from him might jog her memory; and that terrified him a great deal. Willie looked at the girl, "Look at the way she's dressed. You think she was at a costume party or somethin'?" "Then how did she get all the way out here?" Maggie wasn't sure just why this girl was dressed like she was... but she was sure that the girl was not here by accident. Collinwood was more than ten miles from town or the nearest house... too far for someone to just stumble upon the place. "Well, whoever she is, she's trespassin'. I'd better go tell Barnabas." "Barnabas is sleeping. There's no need to wake him until we know more than what we do." The girl rustled just then. She slowly started to come to. Maggie had to admit she was a pretty young thing; with long, black hair and deep dark skin. At first guess, Maggie would have said she was Hispanic; but then there were the clothes... right out of some gypsy village in an old thirties horror movie. "How long you reckon she's been here?" Willie asked. "Who's to say? She could have been here for quite awhile without us knowing it. Most of Collinwood has been sealed off for decades." "I been noticin' things missin'. Food mostly. With all the people in the house lately, though, I didn't think much of it." Just then, Magdalena opened her eyes and saw the two people standing above her. "Well hello there," Maggie warmly welcomed her back to consciousness. "Hello," was all Magdalena could think to say. The older man made her nervous. He looked at her like he was ready to throw her out the door. "Don't be afraid. We won't hurt you." Maggie tried to calm the girl down. "Yeah, kid, we just wanna know what you're doin' here." Willie tried to not appear so menacing. There was no way they were going to get answers out of this girl that way. "I... I... I got lost in the woods." That was probably the weakest excuse in the world, but Magdalena's brain had not fully awakened with her body. "Well, who are you?" Maggie asked calmly. "My name is Magdalena Rakosi." As she answered, Magdalena noticed the old man's face lose color. He recognizes the name. "What're ya doin' here, kid?" "I came looking for work." "Work?" Now Willie was starting to get suspicious. "Yes, my mother told me I might find work here. My tribe once lived here in Maine, and one of my ancestors worked on the 'Great Estate of Collinwood' for a Mr. Barnabas Collins." "That's quite a long shot you were shootin' for, honey," Willie was still suspicious. He recognized the girl's last name. When Barnabas had traveled back in time to the year 1897 to uncover the mystery around the ghost who had run everyone out of the Great House, he had enlisted the help of a gypsy couple named Rakosi. Could this girl really be related to them? And, if so, why on earth would she come back here? Looking for work? It just didn't pan out. "Yes, well, I've been out of work for a long time. I don't have any skills to speak of outside of housekeeping; and I have nowhere else to go." "It's okay, child, it's okay," Maggie had a very soothing way about her. Magdalena decided that she liked this lady. Maggie turned to Willie, "We certainly could use someone with housekeeping skills around here, couldn't we, Willie?" "Yeah, I guess so," Willie eyed the girl skeptically, "but we'll have to talk to Barnabas about it." "Barnabas?" Magdalena tried to appear to not understand. "Yeah, Barnabas Collins," Willie didn't buy her act at all, "he's the owner of Collinwood." Before Willie could interrogate the girl further, Maggie intervened on her behalf. "Well, the first thing we have to do is find you something to wear. Do you have no clothes with you?" "No, ma'am, I have nothing but the clothes on my back." "Dear child! Come with me! I am going to take you into town, and we are going to get you some clothes! By the time we get back, Barnabas should be up from his nap." "I have no money, Ms..." "Oh dear, I'm sorry! My name is Maggie... Maggie Evans, and my tough-looking friend here is Willie Loomis. He's the caretaker of the estate. As for money, don't you worry your pretty little head about it! You can pay me back whenever you can. I don't think either of us is going anywhere any time soon. The first thing you'll have to learn about living here is that we're one big happy family." "You gonna tell her about all the other things she needs to know about livin' here?" Willie asked. Maggie gave him a scolding look. "Don't you worry about a thing, dear," Maggie turned back to her new friend, "You're going to love it here. Welcome to Collinwood."  
  
For the better part of two hours now, Quentin had talked about nearly every aspect of his life of the last thirty-plus years. That had gotten Stone to open up a little more about himself. Before long, the two men realized just how much they had in common. Both were history buffs. Both loved fast cars and fast women. Both loved putting their lives on the line just for the sake of doing so. Vial, it turned out, possessed a Master's Degree in history, and spent most of his time traveling the world in search of rare artifacts. Quentin, himself, had made a fortune over the last three decades in the antiquities business... similar to the art trade that his alter-ego Grant Douglas had been involved in when he had met and gotten involved with Vial's mother. Stone had talked at great lengths about his mother, Daphne, only to be disappointed that none of what he said helped to jog Quentin's memory. Seeing that the subject was causing tension between the two, Quentin sought another subject... but the only one that remained was the one that he dreaded most of all. Quentin was unsure how best to answer his son's question about his curse. Should he approach the subject with the same sarcasm with which it was broached? No, that would be entirely inappropriate. No doubt, this boy – like Quentin himself – sometimes used sarcasm to hide the utter horror he felt inside. The curse of the werewolf was not something to be flippant about. It was a curse in every sense of the word. For three terrible nights every month, the victim would transform into an inhuman creature... one of violence... one of total ferocity. Although more than a century had passed, Quentin remembered all too well how it felt to lose control of oneself and become a creature of the night. The physical transformation was the most painful. Your metabolism sped up to twenty times its normal levels. In the pit of your stomach, you could feel the burning fire of your body rebelling against your will. Next, that same fire sped throughout your system... up your spine... into your limbs... throughout your brain. Just before you lost total consciousness of your own existence, you could feel the initial growths of hair, the elongation of your facial features, and the transformation of your hands into claws. That was it. The entire transformation took only a minute... a minute of the most excruciating pain imaginable. After that, the victim was a prisoner of his own body... unaware of what transpired until the next morning. When you awoke the next morning, three feelings inundated your system all at once: the physical pain associated with the physiological changes your body experienced; the overwhelming exhaustion associated with an entire night of unknown debauchery; and – worst of all – the sense of dread... dread to learn what had happened... to learn what atrocities you had committed. Usually that last sensation was intensified once you looked into a mirror and saw that your hands, face, and clothes were covered in blood. It wasn't only the gut-wrenching knowledge that you had harmed – probably murdered – someone; it was the knowledge – not touched upon by the movies and fiction normally associated with werewolves – that you had quite probably eaten another human being... and that your current, normal body was at that very moment digesting human flesh. A half-hour or so of induced vomiting usually immediately followed that. However, Quentin didn't need to go into any of that. This boy – this thirty-something year old man, Quentin reminded himself – had already experienced all of that hundreds of times by now. Stone didn't want to know what was wrong with him... he wanted to know why. "I understand that you're curious about why you are the way you are, but I'm afraid that the explanation borders on the totally unbelievable." Quentin wanted to explain everything to him... but wasn't sure the boy could handle the truth. "Mister," Vial Stone looked his father dead in the face, an expression of desperation combined with anger, "every month I turn into a werewolf! Do you understand that?! A WEREWOLF!!! I doubt very seriously that there is anything you could tell me that could make me start waving the bullshit flag!" "Okay, but don't say I didn't warn you. Son, I was born in the year 1867. From the time I was your age, I didn't age another day for over a hundred years." Vial sat down on the edge of the terrace. Of all the possibilities he had played out in his head over the years, being the son of an immortal wasn't one of them. Finally, Vial found his voice enough to respond, "Wait just a damn minute here... how is that in any way related to what happens to me? And, if you didn't age for a hundred years, why – if you'll excuse me for pointing out the obvious – are you aging now?!"  
  
Quentin spent the better part of the next hour explaining the whole werewolf curse to his son. It had all started when Quentin, against his family's wishes, had married a gypsy girl named Jenny. Unfortunately for her, Quentin wasn't much of the "home and hearth" type. It wasn't long before he ran off to Egypt with his brother's wife, Laura. Jenny, left to the whims of the rest of the Collins family, suffered terribly. Unbeknownst to Quentin, his wife was pregnant. Not wanting gypsy half- breeds running around Collinwood, Quentin's brother, Edward, took the newborns and gave them to a kindly local woman. Jenny – having been told her twins were stillborn – went quite insane... and Edward, not wanting a scandal, locked her in the tower room of Collinwood. Quentin returned just prior to his grandmother's death... to ensure his place in the will. At the same time, a cousin from abroad presented himself to the family... Barnabas Collins. Barnabas lived in the Old House on the estate with his two servants, Sandor and Magda Rakosi. Magda, it turns out, was Jenny's sister. When Jenny escaped from her room, she sought to kill Quentin. In an act of self-defense, Quentin accidentally killed Jenny instead. Once Magda learned of this, she wanted blood for blood. Using ancient gypsy spells, she placed the curse of the werewolf on Quentin and all of his male offspring... not knowing that she was cursing her own nephew in the process. Since the young boy was already alive at the time the curse was placed, he immediately felt the effects that other male descendents would not feel until their early adult years. The infant died during the next full moon, his tiny body unable to handle the emotional and physical strain of the transformation. When Quentin and Magda learned of the boy's fate, they buried their differences with the tiny boy's body... and Magda dedicated herself to finding a cure for the curse she had inflicted. When all other avenues failed, Magda resorted to the most desperate maneuver she could think of: the mysterious Hand of Count Petofi. She stole from her people a century-old disembodied hand, said to possess the power of the ancient warlock from which it was severed. The hand failed to work. However, it did succeed in bringing to Collinwood the old warlock himself... very intent on retrieving his appendage. In exchange for their help in retrieving his hand, the Count devised a plan to rid Quentin of the werewolf curse. He called to town a painter by the name of Charles Delaware Tate... a painter who owed his talents to the Count. Tate proceeded to paint a portrait of Quentin... but, as with all his paintings, this portrait had magical properties tied to it. From that point on, whenever the moon was full, the image on the portrait would transform to that of a werewolf... while Quentin, himself would not. Quentin was ecstatic! However, like the true devil he was, Petofi failed to mention the fine print: as the portrait would continue to carry Quentin's curse... it would also continue to age on Quentin's behalf. Over the years, the image on the portrait would appear to grow older... while Quentin would not. He continued to live like that... watching as those he loved aged... having to create a new identity for himself every generation-or-so... never to know the peace of death.  
  
"And?" Stone urged his father to go on, "What next? You obviously beat the curse. How did you manage it?" "That's something I'm dying to hear myself," Barnabas stood in the doorway, giving an expectant look to his cousin. "Well?..." "There's plenty of time for that." Quentin smiled as he looked skyward. "We have about two more hours until sundown... and this young man needs a place to be alone with his thoughts." "You gonna lock me up?" Stone stood as he looked nervously from Quentin to Barnabas and back. "Don't you think that would be best?" Quentin was surprised at the boy's reluctance. "Yeah, I guess so..." "Or were you hoping the beast inside would rid you of your Old Man once and for all?" "Actually..." "I know of the perfect place," Barnabas looked at Quentin, "the mausoleum." "The secret room?" Quentin thought to himself, "Perfect!" The Collins Mausoleum at Eagle Hill Cemetery was the final resting place of Joshua, Naomi, and Sarah Collins, Barnabas' real family from the late- eighteenth century. It was the secret room in that very mausoleum that Willie Loomis had stumbled upon that fateful night so many years ago in his search for ill-gotten gain. Since Barnabas' resurrection that night, the room has been used on countless occasions to assist Barnabas and his allies in their numerous quests to save the Collins family from the dark shadows of its past... and one of those quests had been to protect Tom Jennings – Quentin's great-grandson by Jenny – from himself and others during the full moon that had also tortured him as it now does young Vial. "It's settled then," Barnabas turned to Stone, "Will you allow us to help you?" This was not why Vial Stone had come to Collinwood. He had come here for answers and revenge... not for a family. Hadn't he? Now that Stone was here... now... on the terrace overlooking this grand, beautiful estate... he was no longer sure. Maybe this was what he had truly come looking for. He looked at his father and Barnabas. Could he trust these men? Obviously their experience in these matters far surpassed his own. They were his family, after all... the only family he had. It was decision time. Stone had been on his own for so long, he wasn't even sure he knew how to be a part of a family. His brain was telling him to run... to run like hell; but his instincts were telling him different... and his instincts hadn't let him down yet. "Okay, sure," Vial could feel the tension release from his body as he gave in and for once in his life trusted someone other than himself, "Let's go."  
  
CHAPTER 4  
  
Eagle Hill cemetery had not had a caretaker for years. The only graves that even held the appearance of upkeep were those that had been only recently dug. Being in the presence of death brought to Barnabas and Quentin's minds thoughts of Elizabeth. She had been the matriarch of the Collins family for over half a century. She had weathered every storm, and remained the strongest heart of the Collins family. Her funeral had been just yesterday, her body entombed in a private mausoleum of her own design and built on the estate she cherished so much. Already her absence had felt like an eternity. Barnabas held a very special place in his heart for Elizabeth. She reminded him so much of his own mother, Naomi... except that Naomi's strength had eventually been drained from her by a harsh, unloving husband. "I shall miss her a great deal," Barnabas mentioned to Quentin. Elizabeth had been the first to welcome him to Collinwood all those years ago. Posing as a cousin from England, Barnabas had unknowingly brought a smile to her lovely, aging face at a time of personal crisis in her life that had nearly brought her to end her life prematurely. At the time, Elizabeth had not left Collinwood for nearly twenty years. She believed – falsely – that years earlier she had been responsible for the death of her husband, Paul Stoddard. A heartless, opportunistic individual, Paul was going to attempt to leave Collinwood with a great deal of cash and bonds. In her fight to prevent him from doing so, she hit him across the neck with a fire poker. He fell to the floor of the Drawing Room, unconscious and bleeding from the back of the head... that was when his "friend" arrived. Jason McGuire was nothing more than a two-bit criminal and con man, but he and Paul Stoddard went way back. He found Elizabeth delirious that night, and his friend soothing an aching head. With Elizabeth distracted in the foyer of Collinwood, Jason snuck his friend out the side window of the Drawing Room, and then proceeded to lay the groundwork for his greatest con. He convinced Elizabeth to allow him to bury the "body" in the basement of Collinwood... "to protect her and young Carolyn from the horror of a public trial". Elizabeth acquiesced... believing Jason to be sincere in his desire to help her. McGuire then carried out the charade of burying an empty trunk, warning Elizabeth that she must forever stand guard to ensure that no one would ever find out her terrible secret... least of all poor little Carolyn. Decades later, when his luck had run out, Jason returned to Collinwood to blackmail Elizabeth out of a means of income and a place to live... and eventually into a marriage agreement which would secure his claim to all of Collinwood. Luckily for the family, Elizabeth's conscience could take no more. She confessed her "crime", and Jason McGuire's ruse was exposed. To once more avoid the possibility of public humiliation, Elizabeth allowed him to go free... provided he never return. Jason reluctantly agreed, then planned on robbing the obviously wealthy new cousin from England before skipping town for good. Little could he have realized that his last attempted petty crime would cost him his life. Barnabas smiled at the thought. Although most of his existence as a vampire held memories that were nightmarish to say the least, there had been – from time to time – those actions which had been for the best... and which only a vampire could accomplish. Jason McGuire had met a truly justified end. May he rest in torment. In fact, when Barnabas had finished with McGuire, he and Willie had taken the body to the very secret room toward which he and his companions were now traveling. A little closer to the mausoleum, Barnabas felt drawn to yet another grave; this one all but camouflaged by the ravages of time. He called for Quentin and Stone to stop for a moment. He understood that the two were anxious, the sun was beginning to sit very low in the sky, and time was of the essence. However, this pulling was inescapable; and Barnabas had learned long ago that such feelings – especially in a graveyard – should not be faced alone. He bent as low as he could and began to brush aside the weeds and branches that were covering the stone to which he now felt so drawn. "What is it, Cousin?", Quentin knew that Barnabas had known many of the dead in this cemetery personally. "I'm not sure, I just want to make out the name on this stone before we proceed, if you don't mind." Quentin rushed to his friend's side, as did young Vial. They helped move aside the centuries of debris, and then stepped back as Quentin read the inscription on the stone, "Valerie Collins, c.1810-1841. Someone you know, Barnabas?" He turned to look at his cousin, and for a moment feared that Barnabas may be having a heart attack. His pallor was a ghastly white, and he clutched at his chest with one hand while attempting to prevent himself from falling with the other. "My God, Quentin... Angelique!" Barnabas knew the alias on the stone all too well. When he and Julia had gone back in time to 1840 to prevent yet another tortured spirit's demise, Angelique had reappeared. Although Barnabas had made his peace with her in 1897, the witch of this time period would know nothing of that. She was not aware that he was from the future, and that the two of them would go on to become powerful allies. She knew only that he had been released from his coffin... and she demanded that if he were to continue to exist, that he do so as her husband – which, for all intents and purposes, he was. So, knowing how important his mission was to the future of the Collins family, he agreed to her terms and presented her to the Collins family of that time as his wife, Valerie Collins. In the end, to save the Collins patriarch of that time, Angelique/Valerie confessed that she was a witch... and that the true villain at Collinwood was the possessed Gerard Styles. It was at that point that Barnabas realized the true goodness within Angelique... and also how much he truly had loved her. That night, he had intended to confess his feelings to her, but her now mortal life was cut short by a deranged enemy of Barnabas' named Lamar Trask. Barnabas returned to the future with Julia, his mission accomplished, the Collins family safe and free from the dark shadows that had for so long haunted it. Quentin braced his aged and ailing friend. "It's okay, Barnabas, she's finally at rest. I'd be glad to sit and talk with you about all this later, but I'm afraid that I must insist that we move along to the mausoleum." "Of course, Quentin, forgive me. Forgive me, Mr. Stone. Let us proceed. Do not mind the romanticism of my tired old brain." "It's okay, no prob." Stone didn't understand at all what had just happened. What was the big deal about some chick that had been dead a century longer than any of them had been alive? Well, almost any of them. Vial looked at his father. Immortal? He still couldn't believe it. Even in the face of what he knew about the occult, that just beat all he had ever heard of or dreamt. He looked ahead of them at the ominous mausoleum with the name "Collins" emblazoned on the side; then he looked behind them at the waning sun. "We'd better get going though." "Of course, it's just ahead there," Barnabas moved ahead of them to lead the way.  
  
As the three men entered the dark crypt, they could just make out three sarcophagi on the floor, with their names on plaques on the wall: Joshua, Naomi, and Sarah Collins. Barnabas moved on into the room, as familiar with it as he would be his own bedroom. He reached above the nameplate of Naomi Collins at a brass lion's head on the wall. He grabbed the ring in the lion's mouth... and pulled. The ring gave way, attached to a metallic cord. Then... Nothing. "Well?" Stone was getting anxious. Barnabas looked at Quentin with not a slight amount of alarm on his face. "It has been a long time since anyone has used this room." Quentin rushed to his side and, with all his might, threw himself against the wall. Nothing. He tried it again... and again... and again... Nothing. "Uh, guys, I don't mean to seem unappreciative here... but in about five minutes you two are really gonna regret being here." Vial Stone no longer wanted the death of his father... or of the kindly old Barnabas. These two men were the only family he had in the world... and the only people that could help him with is problem. Stone was just about to turn and run into the woods rather than expose his newfound family to the danger of his transformation, when a grating sound stopped him in his tracks. The sound was that of stone rubbing against stone; in this case, very old stone rubbing against very old stone. Vial turned to see his father stumble to the ground, the wall he was so diligently pushing against giving way... exposing a dark, hidden room. "Come on, kid, while there's still time!" Quentin reached for his son, and motioned toward the door. "How will I get out?" Stone wondered. "Don't worry, son, I'll wait here all night... I'll let you out in the morning." Stone stopped at the mouth of the room. He looked at this stranger, this Quentin Collins. He was going to spend the night in a mausoleum, listening to the howls of a mad beast all night? And what if the beast escaped? The look on his father's face said it all... he didn't care. For a moment – just a moment, mind you – Vial Stone wanted a hug. "Well, what're you waiting for? A hug? Get in there before you kill us all!" "What if I... get out?" "Don't worry about that," Barnabas assured him, "in two centuries nothing has escaped from this room that wasn't supposed to." That wasn't quite true, Barnabas thought as he looked at Quentin... but the boy need not know that. "Don't worry! Go!!!" Quentin knew the transformation was moments away, "I'll be here in the morning. Now GO!" Vial Stone slipped into the darkness, and Quentin Collins pulled the door shut as Barnabas pulled on the lion's head ring again. The heavy door grated shut... and moments later, the elder Collinses heard the sound that both had hoped they'd never hear again... "HOWR! HOWR! HOOOOOWWWWWWWWRRRRRRRRLLLLLLLL!!!!!" Both men stared at the hidden door. They could hear the creature scurrying around inside... trying to figure out where it was... and how to escape. "Do you think he'll be okay in there?" Quentin asked his cousin. "Yes, I do." Barnabas felt assured that the room was still secure... even after all this time. "Are you sure you want to stay here tonight?" "Of course, I told him I would." "Then I'll send Willie down with some coffee and blankets. I'm sure he'll insist on keeping you company for a while. Please don't discourage him if he does." "Indeed I won't!" Quentin smiled, "Don't let this streak of nobility confuse you with outright foolishness! I'd be glad to have the company." "Then, of course, I will stay," Barnabas felt completely floored at his lack of having already offered to stay. "Of course you'll do no such thing!" Quentin chided his friend, "Don't think I haven't noticed, Cousin! You are in no shape to be hanging around in a damp, musty old crypt all night! Besides, you have a house full of guests to attend to... and I don't think we want to arouse young Charles's curiosity any more than we have." Barnabas hesitated, but could think of no good argument that would work. "You're right, of course. I'll call Willie right now." "Be careful on your way out of here! It's been a looooonnnnggg time since you went prowling graveyards at night!" "Not nearly long enough!" Barnabas headed for the door. "Barnabas..." "Yes?" "Thank you." "Quentin, think nothing of it!" Quentin smiled, "Oh, and Barnabas?" "Yes?" Barnabas stopped once more. "She really is alright, you know." Barnabas looked at him askance. "Angelique... I'm sure she's in a better place." "Yes... I'm sure she is." Barnabas smiled and left, pulling out his cell phone once more as he did. He called the house and Willie thankfully answered. Barnabas told him to acquire some coffee and blankets and meet Quentin at the Collins Mausoleum. Willie acknowledged his instructions nervously... as he always did whenever the mausoleum was mentioned; but Barnabas could hardly blame him for that. Few individuals throughout history could claim to have known the horror that Willie Loomis had experienced because of that crypt. As Barnabas put away his phone, he found himself once more at Angelique's grave. How truly beautiful she had been. He recalled how he had first seduced her into relinquishing her virginity all those centuries ago in colonial Martinique. Then his horror at her arrival at Collinwood scant days before his fiancée, Josette. Then his fury at discovering that it had been her witchcraft that had caused Josette to marry his uncle, Jeremiah... not to mention the sickness of his own beloved baby sister, Sarah. His fury had turned to murderous rage as he raised his musket to shoot her... shortly before a huge vampire bat flew into the Old House and introduced Barnabas Collins to his destiny. Throughout the ages, he and Angelique had been lovers, enemies, reluctant allies, and, eventually, once more lovers. He had loved Angelique. Perhaps not in the same way that he had loved Josette or even Julia... but wasn't that the way of love? Wasn't it different each and every time? And wasn't that what was so wonderful about it? He stood – a mere six feet from his immortal beloved – and felt no fear. Barnabas kissed his fingers and gently touched the gravestone marked "Valerie Collins". Tomorrow, he would send Willie into town to buy a new grave marker. This site would be cleared, and a large monument put in place of this battered old one... a true testament to the one person most responsible for the survival of the Collins family... Angelique Collins. Barnabas slowly made his way back to the car. It had been a long time since Julia had first taught him to drive, and these days Willie did most of the necessary driving; but he was sure he could make it the short distance back to the house. As he reached the clearing, his thoughts were, of course, on the safety of his friend and the young son he was trying so desperately to help; but Barnabas Collins had other things on his mind as well. He had not seen or heard from Carolyn all day. Young Charles had disappeared rather mysteriously after learning of the Petofi box. Foremost on his mind, for now, however – and he had to admit a certain pang of guilt for his selfishness – was of Angelique... and on what plain she existed now. As the car drove away from Eagle Hill Cemetery, a hooded figure watched from near the edge of the woods... and an icy cold tear escaped from a sky blue eye and rolled down a porcelain white cheek.eHeH  
  
When Willie Loomis got off the phone with Barnabas, Maggie and the girl were standing right there. He told them that he had to run an errand for Quentin, and excused himself. Maggie had all but assured Magdalena that Barnabas would hire her as a housekeeper, and the girl seemed eager to begin her duties. Willie was still suspicious of the girl. She had obviously been skulking around the house for God knows how long; and her name still troubled him... Rakosi.  
Barnabas had, over the years, shared most of the stories of his and Julia's time traveling experiences; and the stories of 1897 were some of the most fascinating. Willie remembered Barnabas telling of the gypsy couple, Sandor and Magda Rakosi. Now this girl wanted them to believe that for over a century this family had spoken well of the Collins family as one they could always return to if need arise? That had to be one of the most far-out stories he'd ever heard in his life... and Willie Loomis had heard many an outrageous story. Nevertheless, she was here... and if Maggie had her way – and she usually did with Barnabas – here to stay.  
When Willie had accumulated his assigned articles, he headed for the car near the servants' quarters. He passed Maggie and Magdalena on his way out. Maggie had the girl all but settled in a room near the kitchen. He threw the blankets and the thermos of coffee in the passenger seat and started the car. Why is Quentin staying in the old mausoleum? Willie thought to himself... thought, but really didn't want to know. He was glad to help Barnabas or any of the Collinses with whatever arose; but experience had taught him that the less he knew of the details, the better he slept. As the car warmed-up, Willie massaged his gold crucifix. It was pretty large – one would almost expect to see it in a rap music video – but living at Collinwood for over a generation had taught him that you couldn't be too careful.  
As Willie drove out of the house grounds, he passed Barnabas on his way in. Barnabas slowed and the two stopped next to each other.  
"On your way to the mausoleum already?" Barnabas sounded pleased... then again, he was almost always pleased with Willie's promptness.  
"Yeah," Willie almost didn't want to ask the next question, but it was almost required, "Barnabas, what is Quentin staying in the mausoleum for?"  
"Do you really want to know?" Barnabas looked at him, amusingly surprised.  
"I dunno," Willie looked at him, "do I?"  
"Run along, Willie. I assure you that you are in no danger."  
"Okay, thanks, Barnabas."  
"Oh, and Willie?"  
"Yeah?"  
"Keep your schedule clear for tomorrow. I want to go into Collinsport and see about buying a headstone for a grave at Eagle Hill."  
"A gravestone? For who?"  
"I'll explain everything tomorrow, Old Friend. Run along now, Quentin is no doubt ready for that coffee."  
"Okay, Barnabas, see you in the mornin'."  
As Willie headed off toward Eagle Hill, Barnabas spoke another of a billion silent "thank-you's" for Fate having made him acquaintances with Willie Loomis.  
  
When Barnabas arrived at the house, Maggie was already in the Drawing Room with a rather anxious look on her face. Barnabas hoped that she wasn't about to announce plans of leaving Collinwood. With Elizabeth gone, this house would seem almost like a tomb without Maggie's warm smile to brighten every day. How little she had changed over the years. Still as pleasant on the eyes as she had been a lifetime ago... and equally pleasant company.  
"Good evening, Barnabas," Maggie met him and helped him remove his coat.  
"Good evening, Maggie, and how was your day?"  
"Funny you should ask," this was Maggie's opening, "I have a favor to ask of you."  
"You needn't bother. If it is within my power, you know that the answer is 'yes'."  
"You always were too good to me, Barnabas," Maggie couldn't help but blush. As long as she'd known Barnabas he had been the absolute perfect picture of a true gentleman. "But you might want to hear me out first this time."  
"As you wish. Shall we retire to the Drawing Room?"  
"I think that would be all together appropriate." Maggie smiled.  
As Barnabas entered the massive Drawing Room of Collinwood, he noticed a lovely young lady sitting properly on the sofa. She stood as he entered and bowed her head very respectfully.  
"Barnabas, this is my friend, Magdalena." Maggie made the appropriate introductions.  
"How do you do, Magdalena? I am Barnabas Collins." He reached to kiss her hand, but she instinctively pulled away... and was obviously embarrassed for having done so. "I do apologize, young lady. Perhaps that was too forward a greeting for this day and age." He extended his hand and she took it; he shook it gently and pulled away, being sure to give the obviously nervous young lady plenty of personal space.  
Maggie jumped at the chance to ease the tension in the room. "Magdalena's mother is an old friend of mine. She's out of school for the summer and was wondering if she could find work here as a housekeeper." Maggie had gone over her lie with the young lady prior to Barnabas' arrival. She was sure that Barnabas would have given the girl the job anyway, but better safe than sorry. Maggie hoped that her old friend would not discover her little white lie.  
"Well, she's certainly welcome to stay here as long as she wishes without having to work off her room and board. Any friend of yours is certainly welcome here."  
"She's trying to save up some money to return to college in the fall, Barnabas."  
"Really, what university are you attending?"  
Magdalena had not prepared for that question. She looked at Maggie nervously... and by the expression on Barnabas' face, a bit too nervously. Barnabas looked at Maggie, who gently took him by the arm and led him to a corner of the room.  
"Actually, Barnabas, she's just failed out of college. She was attending a junior college outside of Bangor and got a bit too involved with the party scene. Rather than admit to her family that she's lost her scholarship, she wants to work and earn the money to return in the fall."  
Barnabas patted Maggie's hand, "I understand." He turned back to the almost shivering Magdalena. "As you can see, I could use a housekeeper around here. Of course, you would be on call at all times, just as Willie is." He looked once more to Maggie, "Has she met Willie?"  
"Yes, they met this afternoon when she arrived."  
"Excellent. If you have any questions, he would be the man to ask. Your food and lodging will, of course, be provided in addition to your salary which we shall start out at... let's say five hundred a week."  
"Dollars?" Magdalena almost fainted. She'd never seen five hundred dollars at one time in her entire life!  
Barnabas laughed. "Not enough?"  
"Oh no, sir, more than enough," Magdalena was almost certain that she liked this Barnabas Collins.  
"Thank you, Barnabas, I'm sure Magdalena would like to get started right away." Maggie motioned for the girl to follow her, but Barnabas stopped them before they left the room.  
"Nonsense, she may begin tomorrow. By the way, I didn't catch your last name, Ms..."  
This was it. If this man were, indeed, the vampyre she sought, the mention of her name would almost certainly ring a bell with him. "Rakosi."  
Barnabas turned white as a sheet. One would have thought he had either just seen one of Collinwood's many resident ghosts... or was on the verge of having a stroke. "Rakosi?"  
Demon, Magdalena had caught her prey. "Yes... Magdalena Rakosi."  
  
Before Willie had even gotten to the door of the Collins Mausoleum, he could hear the wild howls of an animal coming from inside. Instinctively, he looked up at the sky... sure enough, there was the full moon. I swear to God, Willie thought to himself, if I walk in there and Quentin is a werewolf, I'm gonna run like hell back to Collinwood... and stake Barnabas in the heart myself! He proceeded – uneasily – to the door of the mausoleum. He was instantly reminded of the first night he came to this place... the night he unleashed Barnabas Collins from his long slumber... the night he became the vampire's first feast in nearly two centuries. He held the handle of the latch as he looked inside the gated doorway... and saw...  
Nothing!  
"BOO!"  
Willie yelled and started swinging the thermos of coffee like a lady would swing a purse at a would-be attacker. He stumbled backward on the stairway of the small building and fell back on an old gravestone very close to the entrance, his parcel of blankets all that existed between him and a month of traction.  
Quentin Collins stepped from the shadows next to the entrance, laughing like a schoolboy. He held a lit cigar in one hand, and extended the other to his old friend.  
"Ya think you're pretty funny, dontcha, ya sonuvabitch!"  
"Yes, Willie, I'm afraid I do," Quentin pulled Willie to his feet and helped to dust him off... at least he did until Willie batted at him again with the thermos.  
"What the hell ya doin' out here?!"  
"Barnabas didn't tell you?" Quentin was honestly surprised. Since Julia's death, no one was as close to being a total confidant of the eldest Collins than was his faithful manservant.  
"Nah, he seemed distracted. So, don't keep me in suspense... what's up?"  
"You hear that?" Quentin looked all around. The howl seemed to echo off every tree and shadow in the cemetery.  
"Yeah, I do... so let's get the hell outa here!"  
"I can't, Old Buddy, you remember the young man that came by the house today?"  
"Yeah," Willie didn't think he liked the sound of what was coming.  
"He's my son."  
"Then, you mean he's a..." Willie knew full well about the curse that had been placed on Quentin by the old gypsy woman.  
"Yep. That's why I can't leave. Barnabas and I have him sealed up in the hidden room until morning. I'm gonna wait here in case he gets out."  
"And then what're ya gonna do?"  
"Hmmph," Quentin laughed... he hadn't really thought of that, "Pray, I guess."  
"Well," Willie grinned, "I guess I can't let ya stay out here alone." He pulled out a second thermos.  
Quentin patted Willie on the back, "You're a good man, William Loomis."  
As the two sat on the steps to the mausoleum, they each tried to ignore the scratching at the hidden doorway behind them. Hours, it seemed, passed as the animal howled in anger and fear. Finally, about a quarter past two, the creature seemed to be settling into accepting its situation. Perhaps soon it would go to sleep. By this time, both men were exhausted.  
"Hey, Quentin... can I ask you somethin'?"  
"Fire away, Willie," a weary Quentin replied, thankful for the conversation to help keep him awake.  
"What was the name, again, of the gypsy chick who cursed you to begin with?"  
"Magda... Magda Rakosi. Why?"  
"Because me and Maggie, we caught us a prowler at Collinwood today... all decked out like some kinda gypsy woman."  
Quentin's curiosity was piqued. "She wasn't a ghost, was she?"  
"No, she's real, alright... says her family told her she could find a job here... says her name is Magdalena Rakosi."  
Quentin Collins put down his coffee mug and looked at his friend wearily, "Sometimes, Willie, the world can be a damn small place... too damn small."  
  
Dinner at Collinwood went more silently than Barnabas would have liked. Young Jeb and Victoria were more than a little concerned for their mother, who had still not come down. Maggie had gone up to check on her. She was hung over almost to the point of needing hospitalization. Maggie had opted to stay with her, putting wet towels on her head and trying to get her to take some water for the dehydration. Young Magdalena had stayed as well; changing the sheets while Maggie coaxed Carolyn through a shower. Barnabas had attempted to keep the children's minds off of their mother's plight, but to no avail. With his only two servants occupied, Barnabas had served the meal for his guests... not thinking until afterwards that the youngsters would have probably preferred ordering a pizza and watching television in the study. Charles had been unusually quiet, and the Petofi box was nowhere to be found. After about a half hour of uncomfortable silences broken only by the most cliché of small talk, the three representatives of the youngest generation of Collinses politely excused themselves to their respective rooms.  
Barnabas retired to the Drawing Room for an after-dinner brandy. He stood at the massive bay window of the Drawing Room, looking out into the night sky... at the brightness of the full moon. He wondered how Quentin and Willie were doing... and young Vial. He seemed to be a charming enough man underneath all the anger; and a true "chip off the old block". How unfortunate that he had to suffer this unending curse.  
Thoughts of the curse brought Barnabas' train of thought to Magdalena, obviously a descendent of Magda. The way she had looked at him at the recognition of her name... he was sure that she knew – or at the very least suspected – something. The elderly former vampire couldn't help but smile at thoughts of Magda Rakosi. She had been a valuable, if somewhat unwilling ally in the quest to save Collinwood's future from the shadows of its past.  
  
The year had been 1968. The family had deserted Collinwood. The ghost of Quentin Collins had run the denizens of the estate into exile. His attempts to possess the body of young David had caused the family a great deal of horror over the preceding months. Professor Elliot Stokes had attempted to exorcise the house... but to no avail. Through investigating the family histories, Barnabas and Dr. Julia Hoffman had been able to ascertain that the Quentin Collins in question had died under mysterious circumstances in the year 1897. Somehow, Barnabas knew that he needed to travel back in time to investigate further... and, perhaps, avoid the unfortunate demise of the young, handsome Quentin Collins.  
Through the use of the mystical I-Ching wands, Professor Stokes told them, a person's spirit could travel back in time... provided that they had a physical body in that time to inhabit. This had limited use of the wands, historically, to travel within a person's normal lifespan; but Barnabas Collins did have a physical body in 1897... the vampire body chained in the coffin in the secret room in the Collins Mausoleum. Barnabas performed the rituals... and he awoke... chained once more in the coffin. Reaching out with his incredible mental powers, Barnabas entered and took over the mind of a wandering gypsy named Sandor Rakosi. He summoned Sandor to the mausoleum, and to the hidden room to release him once more. Since that physical vampire body had not had sustenance for a century... Sandor became Barnabas' unwitting feast... and his blood slave as well.  
Sandor's wife, Magda, had been furious when she discovered what had happened to her husband... and immediately threatened to kill the vampire at dawn's light. However, Barnabas – with Sandor's help, of course – had convinced her of the nobility of his purpose... and the assurance that Sandor would meet no harm. The three then set out to solve the mystery of Quentin Collins... unaware that they had already set events into motion.  
Over the proceeding months, the truth of Quentin's unfortunate wife, Jenny, had come out... and Magda's curse on Quentin after the death of Jenny had sealed the fate of generations of Collinses to follow. However, the events leading up to the death of Quentin were discovered and avoided... hopefully freeing Collinwood in the future. However, history was not quite finished with Quentin Collins.  
Magda's use of the Hand of Count Petofi had not only failed to cure Quentin of the werewolf curse, but also had managed to bring the mystical Petofi to Collinwood himself. Petofi agreed to cure Quentin... by giving him an alternate curse: immortality. Petofi's plans, however, were far from benevolent. He now wanted to trade bodies with Quentin, allowing him immortality of his own. One had to wonder why – if he had such powers at his disposal – he did not simply grant himself immortality. He was already more than a century old in 1897, with no signs of dying. The real truth behind his plans for Quentin Collins remained a mystery. Before Petofi could be successful in his attempt to take over Quentin's body, he was destroyed in a fire... or so they assumed.  
With his mission accomplished – again, he had to remind himself, with the assistance of Angelique – Barnabas returned to the twentieth century... and Quentin departed Collinwood for parts unknown. The two had become good friends during the course of their adventures together... and would thankfully be reunited in the future thanks to Collinwood's most intrepid detective... Julia.  
  
Thoughts of Julia brought Barnabas back to the here and now. He walked over to her portrait. Part of him felt guilty for tonight's thoughts of Angelique. It was true that he had loved his immortal tormentor, but not like he had loved Julia. No one had ever stood by him as she had... accepting him not only for the monster he had been, but also for the man she knew was buried within. They had enjoyed fifteen years together before she had been so cruelly taken away from him. The doctors had never been able to isolate the cause of her particular form of cancer, but – being a research scientist – it was suspected that exposure to some unknown chemical or element had been the cause. Barnabas held back tears at the thought that it could have been the very chemicals she had experimented with to cure him of his vampirism that had caused her untimely death.  
Was there no end to history's torment of him?! What had he done to deserve such a life of unending sorrow and regret?! How much had he sacrificed for the greater good of his family and friends? Yes, he had murdered. He had murdered hundreds of times... but was that truly his fault?! Murder was a symptom of his curse! Like any carnivorous wild animal, he had to kill to survive. He had never killed out of anger... well, he remembered, not often, anyway. How much must he pay for that?!  
He could've easily blamed Angelique. Josette, little Sarah, and his mother, Naomi, had all died because of the curse placed on him by her. Roxanne Drew had met a tragic end because of Angelique. Now, it seemed, even Julia had died because of that blasted curse! However, Barnabas could not truly blame her. His curse had not been the machinations of an evil woman... but rather of the egotistical young man who had stolen her heart. Barnabas Collins knew that it was not uncommon for men to pay later in life for the sins of their pasts; but for how long must he pay for that one indiscretion? How many more must die before the sin was redeemed?! Even Angelique, herself, had died for her love of him! When would it be his turn?! When would the loving, merciful God he had been raised to sing praises to finally forgive him for his greatest sin?... That of being human.  
Barnabas sat in the chair in front of Julia's portrait. How he missed her. In mortal years, he was now seventy-two years old... it could not be much longer before he would be reunited with his dearest friend. Or could it? With the constant breakthroughs in medical science – not to mention the obvious disdain of his deity – he could live another thirty years... or more. The thought depressed him beyond words.  
"Barnabas?"  
It was Maggie. How long had she been standing there without him noticing? How long had she been calling his name? Had he sank so deep into self-pity as to lose all track of his manners?! With his mind already in the depths of despair, would his mind be God's next victim?!  
"Forgive me, Maggie. What can I do for you?"  
"Magdalena and I have settled Carolyn in for the night. She asked me to apologize to you for her behavior."  
Poor dear Carolyn. "I shall talk to her tomorrow. Everything will be alright, Maggie. Is there anything else?"  
"I was about to ask you the same thing."  
"I'm quite all right, my dear... just remembering the past."  
Maggie looked from Barnabas to Julia's portrait. "She was quite a lady."  
"She was indeed," Barnabas looked to the brandy glass in his lap, and then mentally scolded himself for his atrocious manners, "Maggie, would you care for a brandy?"  
"If you don't mind the company."  
"On the contrary," Barnabas said as he walked over to the wet bar, "I believe that your company is precisely what I need this evening."  
As he poured Maggie's drink – and another for himself – the phone rang. Maggie answered the phone and seemed pleased to hear from whomever it was. "Barnabas, it's Roger. He wants to talk to you."  
Barnabas wasn't sure he wanted to take this call... not tonight anyway. He and Roger had been close at one time, but their relationship had grown strained since the death of David's wife... young Charles' mother. Barnabas and Julia had tried everything either of them could think of to help that poor girl... but neither David nor Roger had believed them.  
However, Roger was still family... and Barnabas was still in control of his manners... despite his fear of impending senility. He took the phone from Maggie and handed her the brandy he had poured for her. She walked over to the fireplace, admiring Julia's portrait.  
"Good evening, Roger. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Barnabas asked politely.  
"Good evening, Barnabas. I do apologize for the lateness of the call."  
"Not at all. Now what can I do for you?"  
"David and I had a rather peculiar visitor this afternoon at the office."  
"Oh? Anyone I know?"  
"I'm not sure. That's why I've called. Barnabas, we need to talk."  
  
Charles Collins sat on the massive, four-post bed in his room at Collinwood. He sat with his knees held tightly to his chest, and rocked back and forth... looking at the little toy soldier he had found at the Old House earlier this morning. When he'd picked up the object from the rubble, his mind had been flooded with an array of disconnected images... until his poor brain – almost like it was short-circuiting from the overload – had caused him to pass out. He'd been unconscious out there most of the day, as the pinkish hue of his normally pale face testified. Unfortunately for Charles, however, his mini-coma had not been a respite for his mind... but only a means of his extended horror...  
  
The blonde woman had appeared to him in his mind. Her devastatingly beautiful face tinged with the slightest uncomfortable level of malevolence. She had spoken to him, he could see that much from her moving lips... but he had heard nothing. She then led him through the corridors of a massive and beautiful house...  
The Old House!  
Of course... it had to be the Old House! The fireplace and stairway were exactly where they were in the ruins... but this house was not in ruins. It was beautiful. The Drawing Room was decorated with pristine Queen Anne furniture. The floors covered with the finest Persian rugs. Over the fireplace hung a portrait Charles had never seen but the image was all too familiar... Quentin. Charles looked all around the room, until he came again to the blonde lady standing behind him. She looked at him deeply, her pale blue eyes staring through to his very soul. Whatever evil had once existed at the heart of those eyes was no more. Her look was one of grave concern. She kept moving her lips, like she was screaming in silence. When it became clear to her that he could not understand her words, she pointed back into the Drawing Room. Charles turned...  
The portrait!  
The image on the portrait had altered. Now, instead of an image of a dashing young Quentin Collins, it was an image of sheer horror. The being – for Charles could think of no other word to describe it – was wearing the same clothes that the image of Quentin had been; but now, instead of a face, there was only a pale skull... with bulging eyes in its sockets... staring down at its own outstretched hands. The hands appeared to not be his own. They were covered in hair... with claws protruding where fingers should have been. Charles could feel his own heartbeat in his ears. He looked once more at the painting's face... and it was staring at him.  
Charles backed toward the hallway and tripped over a small table near the door. He picked himself up, looking back once more to the portrait. Nothing. The portrait was now completely black... no image on it at all. He stepped closer... what was going on here?  
A warning..., came a whispered reply in his ear. Charles turned suddenly to see who it was that was speaking to him...  
The creature... the half skeletal/ half animal creature wearing Quentin's clothes. It stared at him with bulging eyes that could not blink if they wanted to. It was so close to Charles that he could feel its cold breath on his face. Charles tried to scream, but no sound escaped his lips. He turned and ran for the bookcase. Of course, he remembered, Barnabas said that the bookcase covered a hidden passage! That was his only means of escape. The golden-haired beauty that had brought him here was nowhere to be seen. He pushed and pulled on the bookcase... trying to get it to budge. He looked over his shoulder and saw as the creature was inching its way toward him.  
Finally, the bookcase budged and the other side was within his grasp. He looked once more at his pursuer... who had now stopped pursuing... and simply stood pointing... pointing at the other side of the bookcase. Somehow, Charles knew that he really didn't want to look; and somehow he knew he had no choice. He turned to see what new horror awaited him.  
It was the coffin! The very coffin he had seen that first time he came to the Old House! It sat on what appeared to be some kind of dais. It was chained in three places. Charles walked toward it... reaching for the first chain. Suddenly, the first chain exploded at its ancient lock and fell to the ground. The second and third chains soon followed. Charles stepped back at the suddenness of what was transpiring, but caught himself... knowing what waited behind him. He watched as the coffin sprang from its resting place, leaning long-ways against the very table on which it had just lay... the door sprang open, revealing...  
Barnabas!  
No sooner had Charles breathed the name, than the body's eyes sprang open, and Barnabas lunged for Charles... grabbing hold of the unsuspecting young man. The terrified young man looked into the eyes of this younger version of the master of Collinwood... seeing nothing of the kindness he associated with his eldest cousin. As this Barnabas stared malevolently at Charles, he opened his mouth wide... exposing vampire fangs.  
Charles looked over his shoulder, hoping to find someone, anyone, who could save him from this certain death. All he saw was the Drawing Room; not that of the Old House, but, instead, that of the Great House. In the middle of the room stood the blonde woman... in a pool of blood. As he looked, he noticed that her feet were not actually in the blood at all, but, rather, hovering several inches above. He looked back up to her face. It was pale... and a noose was closed tight around her neck. Her lifeless eyes stared right at him and for the first time he recognized this blonde beauty...  
Mother?!  
Charles then sat up, completely out of breath, and once more sitting in the ruins of the Old House. He looked around and found all as it had been earlier that day. No skeletal creature... no coffin... no blonde woman. Had it all been a dream? What had it meant?  
Don't forget..., was the only whispered response to his unspoken questions. Don't forget...  
  
Back in his room at Collinwood, Charles looked once more at the toy soldier in front of him. Why had he brought this thing back? Wasn't he afraid of more nightmarish images? What was the significance of this doll to his mother? To Cousins Barnabas and Quentin? And how were they all related to each other? He stood up and moved to the door of his room... and locked it.  
  
CHAPTER 5  
  
As soon as the sun was completely up, Quentin opened the door to the secret room of the Collins mausoleum. Willie had gone back to the house about an hour before, having received a call from Barnabas that they had to go into Bangor. There had been no sound from the room for several hours; and Quentin had waited nervously, wanting to open the door to check on this unfortunate young man who was forced to suffer the price for Quentin's own sins.  
Here I am, Quentin thought, cocky on my return to Collinwood because I have outsmarted both Magda and Petofi, and freed myself from their curses; while this boy is doomed to live out my curse for the rest of his unnatural life... never able to confide his affliction to anyone... and never being able to love or be loved because of it.  
The door opened a little easier this time. Quentin placed his foot and full body weight against the door as he pulled on the lion's head ring. The door inched open, revealing a tattered and unconscious Vial Stone. Quentin ran to his son's side, checking for a pulse. The commotion was enough to bring the younger Collins around.  
"You alright, kid?", came Quentin's concerned greeting.  
"Yeah... I think so... you're still here?" Stone seemed sincerely surprised, and – deep down – thankful to see his father's face.  
"I told you I would be, kid. How do you feel?" Quentin already knew the answer to that question. Even though it had been many a year since his own transformations... it was an experience one could never forget... not in a thousand lifetimes.  
"I feel exhausted... and hungry."  
"Okay. Let's get you cleaned up and we'll head back to Collinwood. Just relax here for a minute while I get your bag from the car."  
"Is Barnabas here?"  
"No, he had to go into Bangor on business."  
"You stayed out here alone all night?"  
"Not quite. Willie Loomis, the Collinwood caretaker kept me company."  
"Does he know?" Stone seemed panicked at the idea.  
"Don't worry. Willie is an old and trusted friend to the Collins family. He knows much darker secrets than the one you possess, I assure you." And that was certainly true.  
"Alright then," Stone trusted his father's judgment. His father. Twenty-four hours ago, those words burned his mind with a hatred that had driven his life for the past five years. Today, with the dawning of a new sun, they were words of endearment. This man had accepted him without argument. No, moreso even than that... he had welcomed him with his whole heart. This Quentin Collins was a man of honor... exactly the type of man his mother would have loved... the type of father that he could love. "Let's go back to Collinwood."  
  
Barnabas had been quiet for most of the morning since leaving the estate. Willie finally decided that he needed a conversation – any conversation – or he was going to go really nutts.  
"Is everything okay, Barnabas?" Willie asked, not sure if he wanted to know the answer.  
"I'm not sure, Willie." Barnabas never stopped looking out the window. Although it was customary for a man of Barnabas Collins' position to ride in the back of a Rolls like the one in which he now rode, Barnabas had always preferred the front seat. Since his first encounter with an automobile over thirty years ago, he had been absolutely fascinated by the sheer speed of the machine... and the view from the front was simply too spectacular to miss. Even after all this time, he still chose to ride in the front like some child confronted with the experience of riding in the front of his parents' car for the first time.  
"What's going on at the office?"  
"We've a mystery investor that has gained a substantial position in the company."  
"He takin' over?"  
"I should hope not." Then Barnabas had an idea, "Willie, do you still have that friend in town who does some private investigating?"  
"You mean Houndog Hank?" They had called him houndog because there was absolutely no piece of information that he couldn't sniff out. He hadn't had quite the nefarious past that Willie or Jason McGuire had, but he still ran in the same circles. He was mostly a down-on-his-luck P.I. Oh, he got plenty of work; but between women, cards, and booze, he didn't have much left. "Yeah, he's still around. Ain't talked to him in years, though."  
"Do you think he'd still help you out?"  
"Oh, sure! He still owes me a few from the good ole' days."  
"I'd appreciate it if you paid a call on him while I meet with Roger and David."  
"Anything in particular you're wanting to know?"  
"Yes... I want to know everything he can find out about a certain Mr. Andrew Petrof."  
"He's gonna want more to go on than that."  
"Anything else I'll instruct Roger's assistant to call you with once I arrive."  
"Okay, Barnabas, no problem."  
"Thank you, Willie." Barnabas stopped for a moment and tried to count in his head the number of times he had spoken those three simple words. This man who should by all rights hate him more than any other soul in the world was, in fact, his dearest and most trusted friend.  
  
David met Barnabas at the elevator. It was clear from the expression on his face that he was still very uncomfortable around Barnabas. Why? After all these years, surely David didn't still hold a grudge against Barnabas for the death of his wife. He and Julia had done everything humanly – and even supernaturally – possible to save that poor girl. However, Barnabas wasn't sure that that event was truly the reason for David's – and Roger's – odd behavior of late. Yes, they were both grief stricken over the death of Elizabeth; but Barnabas could not forget yesterday at breakfast when father and son had shared a knowing glance together after one of Quentin's cruder inside vampire jokes. What could they possibly know? And how and for how long had they learned? Before Barnabas could think on the matter further, he and David had arrived at Roger's office.  
"Good morning, Roger." Barnabas greeted his cousin more warmly than he felt; but to do less would be completely rude and out of place for a Collins.  
"Good morning, Barnabas. Coffee?" Roger motioned him toward a comfortable chair just opposite his own across the massive desk.  
"Thank you. Cream and two lumps, please."  
David motioned for Roger's secretary and she immediately left to fill the order along with coffees for her two superiors.  
"So, Barnabas," Roger wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter, "do you know anything about this Petrof?"  
"No, I'm afraid I don't; but I have Willie looking into it even as we speak."  
"This man hardly seemed like the type that Willie Loomis could find out anything about," Roger spoke with words laced with contempt for Collinwood's chief caretaker. "On the contrary, Roger," Barnabas defended his old friend, "I have discovered over the years that there is literally no end to what Willie is capable of." "Have you told him what he wants, Father?" David intervened.  
"Yes, we discussed it over the phone. What do you think, Barnabas? Disgruntled distant relative come back for justice."  
"It's hard to say, Roger," Barnabas wasn't sure he appreciated the connection Roger was making to Barnabas' own alias in this time. Although one could hardly tell now, Roger had welcomed him with open arms at the time. "I'm sure we've all had our little indiscretions over the years." Barnabas then brought Roger up to speed on young Vial.  
"When the woodwork begins to leak, it really tends to flow," Roger said.  
"This boy seeks nothing but the father he never knew."  
"That's what they all seek... to begin with, Barnabas; but once they see the bank accounts, allllll that changes." Roger always did tend to see things in dollars and cents.  
"Well," Barnabas was sorry he'd brought the whole subject up, "I'm sure the two events are unrelated."  
"The bottom line is this, Barnabas," Roger wanted to get down to it and end this meeting as soon as possible, "this Mr. Petrof has acquired a thirty percent share of the company. David and I together only control twenty-six percent; and with Carolyn in control of the other twenty-five, it leaves the family on too shaky a ground to mount an offensive against him. He's willing to sell his thirty percent back to David and myself in exchange for Collinwood."  
"Did you explain to him that Collinwood was not yours to sell?" Barnabas hated sticking the point, but it was an important question.  
"Of course I did," for a moment, Barnabas thought he saw a trace of his old friend, Roger, inside the previously icy exterior, "but he is right, Barnabas. Carolyn refuses to sell to us, and who's to say that she'll always vote her shares as we wish her to?"  
"Well, Roger, I'm afraid I have some news that will be of some comfort to you."  
Roger looked anxious, "Oh, please do tell."  
"While it's true that Elizabeth bequeathed all of her Collins stock to Carolyn... I'm afraid that the amount of that stock is not what any of you thought it was."  
"What do you mean," David now joined the conversation.  
"A while back, Elizabeth was in need of some quick cash. The house was in dreadful need of repair. I offered to pay for the repairs myself, but she wouldn't hear of it. She intended to put up some of her Collins stock for sale so that she could take care of the house herself, as she always had in the past..."  
"Oh, no... we're in worse shape than we thought," David exasperated.  
"Please, allow me to finish," Barnabas knew he was about to ease their suffering, "I convinced her to sell some of the stock to me, so that she could buy it back whenever she wanted. Later, of course, she refused to buy it back. She said that she wanted me to keep the stock as part of my 'rightful heritage'."  
"How much did she sell you?" Roger was beginning to see light at the end of the tunnel.  
"Five percent... which I am only too happy to sell back to you now. Shall we say, market price?"  
"Ha-haaaaa!" Roger leapt from his seat – no small feat for a man of his years – "Barnabas do you know how you've made my day?!" Roger and David's position was secure! With Barnabas' five percent added to their own, they had thirty-one percent and control of the company. More than enough to stall their would-be buyer until some kind of proxy arrangement could be made with Carolyn.  
"I don't think we should be too premature in our celebration, Roger," Barnabas cautioned, knowing that this was far from over. "Anyone who is so meticulous in his planning would have known about mine and Elizabeth's arrangement. If you had simply checked the books of her accounts, you would have known. This man knew that I was in a position to help you... and he knew that once Collinwood was on the table you would contact me and I would come into town..."  
"What are you thinking, Barnabas?" David was beginning to worry all over again.  
Suddenly Barnabas started to look pale.  
"Call the house!" Barnabas had left his cell phone with Willie.  
"Why?" Roger started dialing before Barnabas could even answer.  
"Collins Enterprises is not the real target here... and neither is Collinwood..."  
"Then what?" David's question was answered by Roger's look of concern.  
Carolyn!  
  
Carolyn had gotten up bright and early; but still not early enough to catch Barnabas before he left into Bangor. That disappointed the Collins princess a great deal because she was horrified at her deplorable behavior since her mother's funeral. First, she was cold to Barnabas over the issue of the will. Then, on what should have been a pleasant evening out with Roger and David, she had made a drunken fool of herself... and in front of the children. What must Jeb and Victoria be thinking of her? What must Bob be thinking, looking down on her from Heaven? The question brought back vivid memories of her late husband.  
Reverend Roberto Reyes had had a difficult life. Raised a devout Catholic, he had grown to attend the seminary to study for the priesthood. In his studies, he had become disillusioned with Catholic dogma, and converted to Protestantism. Disowned by his family, he became a Presbyterian minister, and moved as far away from his home in Laredo, Texas, as he could afford to go... his money dropped him in Collinsport, Maine. It was there that he had met Carolyn Stoddard-Hawkes... widowed single mother of a bastard child, Jeb. On their first meeting, the sad, disillusioned – and quite intoxicated – Carolyn decided that she was going to tempt this "devout" Christian, and lead him down the road to depravity. Just the opposite happened... Bob had brought her to Christ, and the two were married just a month later.  
Bob had been a wonderful husband to Carolyn and father to young Jeb. Before long, another bundle of joy was on the way... Victoria. Carolyn named her after her closest friend... and dear sister. The only thing that could have made Carolyn happier would have been the consent of her mother. Unsure of how to handle Carolyn's new-found religion – not to mention the discomfort of having an Hispanic minister married to a Collins – Elizabeth had been strongly opposed to the two getting married... and even more opposed to the life they had chosen: wandering missionaries, living on little more than simple faith. Elizabeth could not stand the thought of her daughter and grandchildren out there living like common gypsies. It all led to a huge argument between mother and daughter... the last words either would ever speak to the other.  
Memories of her mother brought Carolyn back to the here and now. She had to do something to get her mind off things. Since Barnabas was gone, she would go and make breakfast for everyone; maybe she could make the last two days up to her children and the rest of the family.  
The lovely middle-aged blonde woman worked her still-lovely fingers to the bone on her endeavor at breakfast. Never known for her culinary skills, this morning's breakfast was sure to be a shock to everyone. Eggs Benedict, hot rolls, hash-browned potatoes, and freshly squeezed orange juice would greet the Collins family to the new day; and that was just the beginning. When Barnabas returned, Carolyn would talk with him, and beg his forgiveness. After all he had done for the family – and for her in particular – he deserved this beautiful house; and there was no doubt in her mind but that her and her children would forever be welcome here in their ancestral home.  
Next, she would make amends with the rest of the family: Maggie; the new maid, Magdalena; Quentin; young Charles; and, yes, even Willie. She couldn't believe she had spent the entire day yesterday in a hung over stupor. She was going to have to swallow a great deal of pride for this one; but wasn't pride a sin anyway? And the last thing in the world she wanted anything to do with at this point in her life was a deadly sin.  
Just then, she heard a knock at the front door. Carolyn quickly washed her hands and went to the door to greet whomever it was calling at this early hour. At least she had had the foresight to make herself presentable before coming down this morning. Careful, Carolyn, she thought to herself, there goes that deadly sin again.  
She arrived at the front door and opened it... the sun was still low on the horizon, and it was still very dark. 'Always darkest...', she thought to herself. However, she couldn't see anyone at or near the door.  
"Hello?" Carolyn Stoddard-Reyes called into the dark, "Is anyone there?"  
"Forgive me," came a voice from the darkness, "I was beginning to think that I had called too early."  
Carolyn still couldn't see anyone, and was beginning to feel nervous. "Well, come on into the light, I'm Carolyn Stoddard-Reyes."  
"Pleased to meet you Mrs. Reyes," came the voice from the dark. Just then, a figure emerged from the void. He was tall and pale, and sent a shiver up Carolyn's spine. The shadowy figure extended his left hand, and Carolyn could tell by looking at the way that he held his right arm close to him that he was disabled. She took his hand and looked up to his face. He stepped into the light, exposing deep, dark eyes, and a smile that was both horrifying... and inviting. The stranger took her proffered hand and kissed it. He looked deeply into her sparkling blue eyes and introduced himself. "My name is Petofi... Count Andreas Petofi."  
  
Barnabas and Willie arrived back at the Great House by ten that morning. The family was all in the Drawing Room, except for Charles... and Carolyn. The Collinses all welcomed Barnabas with a warm smile, but Quentin's soon turned to a look of concern once he noticed the all-to- familiar expression of worry on his old friend's face.  
"Anything the matter, Cousin?" Quentin asked, attempting to not sound too serious.  
"Has anyone seen or heard from Carolyn this morning?" Jeb and Victoria sat quietly together in one corner of the room, looks of embarrassment on their faces at the mention of their mother. Neither of the children could remember ever having seen their mother drunk before, and yesterday had been an eye-opening experience for both.  
"I went to check on her earlier, but she wasn't there," reported Maggie Evans, "I guess I assumed that she'd gone with you somewhere. She had mentioned wanting to talk with you first thing this morning."  
"By the time Vial and I came in this morning," Quentin added, "everyone was already at breakfast; but no sign of Carolyn, no."  
"Maggie," Barnabas asked with more than a note of urgency, "would you mind checking with the new girl, Magdalena, to see if, perhaps, she has seen or knows anything about Carolyn."  
"Of course," and with that, Maggie left the Drawing Room.  
Quentin came closer to his cousin as Maggie, Willie, and the children left the room. "What's going on, Cousin?"  
"I've just come from Bangor from a meeting with Roger and David. We fear that Carolyn might be in some sort of danger." Barnabas then proceeded to explain to Quentin the details of the mysterious Mr. Petrof, and the attempted takeover of Collins Enterprises. This stranger had to know that his position against the family was weak; and he deliberately sent enough alarm flares ringing with Roger and David to call Barnabas away from Collinwood. Who would do such a thing? And why?  
Barnabas Collins walked instinctively over to the portrait of his dearly departed wife. In times of uncertainty in the past, Julia had always been a refuge of support to him. He stroked his gray goatee, and leaned heavily on his cane. There had to be more to this than a simple corporate takeover. Of what importance was Carolyn to some European businessman? An old lover, perhaps? A jilted one? Carolyn was a beautiful woman – even still today – and had more than her fair share of admirers. Perhaps I'm over-analyzing this, Barnabas thought to himself, perhaps Carolyn's disappearance had nothing to do with this Andrew Petrof... perhaps she was somewhere on the grounds, walking around, trying to put her life in perspective again. It has been only a few days since the death of her mother. Maybe she...  
"Barnabas?" Willie came back in the room.  
"Yes, Willie, have you found her?"  
"No," Willie always hesitated giving bad news to Barnabas, possibly a throwback to the nights when bad news was met with a particularly harsh punishment, "I think you oughta see this, though." He held in his hand an apron and spatula.  
"Where did you find those?" Barnabas knew from Willie's expression that the answer was not going to be 'in the kitchen'.  
"Just outside, in the bushes."  
"Not to sound too critical of our dear baby cousin," Quentin added, "but what would an apron and spatula have to do with Carolyn?"  
"I just talked to Magdalena," Willie answered, "and she said that she saw Carolyn up just after Barnabas and I left this morning, and she was preparing to cook breakfast for the family. Barnabas, what's goin' on here?"  
Barnabas looked at Quentin. Both were remembering Quentin's ominous premonition from the other night. 'Something wicked...'  
"Willie," Barnabas had to put his worry aside for the moment, now was a time for action and leadership... a role he was all too familiar with, "Call the security company... ask them for a copy of the security video from the front door camera."  
"Yeah, okay, Barnabas," Willie left immediately to follow his instructions.  
Vial Stone had been sitting in one of the grand Victorian chairs near the corner during all the commotion. Seeing how desperate both his father and Barnabas were over the disappearance of this woman, he felt obliged to offer any help he could.  
"Is there anything I can do?" Stone asked, truly sincere in his desire to help his new family any way that he could.  
"If you don't mind, Mr. Stone," Barnabas answered, "I would greatly appreciate it if you could look around the grounds to see if you find any trace of Carolyn. She's in her mid-fifties, blonde hair, blue eyes, about five foot, four; anywhere from one hundred ten to one hundred twenty pounds."  
"No problem, I'll see if I can sniff her out," his pun had been unintentional, but it had garnered a look from his father nonetheless. "Sorry."  
Quentin smiled at this apple that had been born so far, yet fallen so close to the tree. "Think nothing of it... and thank you."  
With that, Stone headed off out the front door. Quentin met Barnabas at the large bay window facing the cliffs of Widow's Hill. Both men knew that in situations of the unexplained at Collinwood, the paranormal was usually a factor. Both men knew that they were each well suited to handling such matters, even though it had been many, many years since they had. And both men knew that despite what might transpire, each could count on the other, even to the death. They gave eachother an unspoken assurance of their continued devotion to face even death once more together... and then looked out on the Great Estate of Collinwood, awaiting some results from their friends' investigations.  
  
Carolyn Stoddard-Reyes opened her eyes; at least it felt like she was opening her eyes. She still couldn't see anything, no matter how hard she strained her eyes. What was she doing here? The last thing she remembered was answering the door at Collinwood... the strange man... a kiss on her hand... then... nothing.  
"How are you doing, Carolyn?" A voice called from the darkness.  
"What do you want with me?!" As she tried to move, she realized that she was tied to something; her hands and legs were all bound to something, keeping her body fixed in an "X" position. She slung her head back as she strained against her shackles... and bumped her head on a cement wall. The frightened woman still could see nothing, but she could smell. Wherever she was, it was damp. She could smell the scent of dank, mildewed water. The foul smell filled her nostrils and seemed to move all the way to her stomach, where it threatened everything that was there with the possibility of throwing up. This was crazy, she thought. The humidity in the room stuck to her like an oily film. She could hear mosquitoes buzzing around her... no doubt already feasting on her paralyzed form. Carolyn did all she could do to fight from becoming hysterical. She needed to keep her wits about her. She didn't know how long she'd been gone; but she was sure that by now her family would be looking for her... and that thought gave her some comfort. Barnabas and Quentin would find her... they just had to.  
"I'm counting on them finding you, in fact." He was reading her mind!  
"Who are you?" Carolyn asked – not screamed as before; but merely asked... asked as she would an inquiry concerning the weather.  
"I already told you... I'm Count Andreas Petofi."  
"What do you want with me?"  
"Are you sure you want to know?"  
"No."  
"Would it frighten you to know... that I want to kill you?"  
Carolyn Reyes screamed... she screamed as she had never screamed before. She screamed as one would for her very life, which was exactly her case. The tears of shock flooded her eyes as she screamed and continued to pull against her restraints. This man wanted to kill her... he wanted to torture and kill her. Why?!  
The sound of water sloshing silenced her screams. This room was standing in water... and he was here... standing in the water and moving toward her. The sloshing grew louder... and closer... it stopped just to the right of her... a gloved hand touched her face... before the scream could leave her lips, the gloved hand covered her mouth. Carolyn could feel the stranger's icy breath against her face... down along her neck... and finally up to her ear.  
He whispered to her, "Your cousins will come looking for you, my dear; but they will not find you... alive. When I leave here, I am going to turn on the water main, and this room will slowly begin to fill with water." The fiend could feel Carolyn shiver with fear and desperation under his touch. He continued his torment, "They have only three days to find you before you are completely submerged... and join your dear, sweet mother..." She screamed beneath his glove until she could scream no more. As her body went limp from exhaustion, her tormentor moved away and began walking to the far side of the room.  
"Why?", she asked weakly as he reached the far side of the room.  
"Because, Ms. Reyes... I can."  
  
It had taken nearly two hours for the security company to send the van with the surveillance tapes to Collinwood. By that time, Roger and David had arrived and joined Vial in searching the estate. Willie called for Barnabas as soon as the tapes arrived, and the two met Quentin in the study. Willie opened the tape and inserted it into the VCR.  
Barnabas had never had much use for the machine, but was thankful for it now. G&J Security monitored the cameras that were in place all around the house. Tapes were made to cover any time period when an actual person was not at the monitors... which appears to have been the case this morning. After berating the security supervisor, and threatening massive lawsuits, Barnabas had been forced to retire to his room to calm down and rest before his blood pressure got the better of him. As the tape began, Willie fast- forwarded through the early hours of the night. Finally they found what they sought.  
The man was tall, as tall as Roger and David had described. He wore a long coat, actually closer to a Victorian-era cloak. Barnabas and Quentin looked at eachother as both recognized the oddness of the man's dress. Carolyn answered the door... there was some manner of introductions... Carolyn extended her hand in greeting... the man returned with his left hand. The action was odd enough to stand out. All three men looked closer to the visitor's right hand; he held it cradled closely to him. He bent to kiss Carolyn's hand... he looked up, no doubt saying something... then it happened.  
The stranger pulled hard on Carolyn's hand, pulling her to him. The spatula fell to the ground as he ripped off the apron with the mysterious right hand... it was gloved. Both Barnabas and Quentin felt a chill run down their spines. It couldn't be, both men expressed to each other through facial contortions. They watched for more evidence.  
Carolyn struggled as the man reached in his pocket, producing a handkerchief. It must have been laced with some form of anesthetic because Carolyn fell limp shortly after it was placed over her face. It hadn't been long enough to have killed her – or at least all three men hoped that was the case – so she must have passed out. As the man was about to leave, Carolyn draped over his shoulder, he spotted the camera.  
The light hit his face. His skin was pale, and his eyes deep and dark. He had a large nose, and a pitch-black goatee that looked more like it had been drawn on his face rather than grown. He had long black hair, unbound, and hanging loosely about his shoulders. A grim smile broke over his face as he looked into the camera. He placed his gloved hand in his mouth and pulled off the glove with his teeth. His exposed hand was completely out of proportion with the rest of his body. It was mere skin and bone... to be more precise... wrinkled gray skin and bone. However, the appearance of the shriveled hand was not what terrified the Collins men the most. On the index finger of the hand was a gold ring... a large gold ring with a large ruby stone.  
Barnabas and Quentin Collins gasped simultaneously, "Petofi!"  
  
Charles Collins wandered the massive halls of the second floor of Collinwood, not sure of where he was going. Ms. Evans had come to his room and told him that Cousin Carolyn had gone missing and that the family was starting a search of the grounds for her. He had volunteered to search the abandoned wings of the mansion. Now that he was looking around, he wondered why he had done that.  
The images of the previous day's dream or vision or whatever it was still haunted his mind. With every step, it seemed as if he could feel that awful skeletal creature just over his shoulder... and when he would turn suddenly to reassure himself that it wasn't there... he could feel the vampire Barnabas over the other shoulder. Charles hadn't slept all night, afraid to close his eyes. Was it really those surrealistic creatures he feared, though? Or, perhaps, was it a fear of seeing his mother again? The beautiful blonde that had taken him on his magical mystery tour of the Old House had turned out to be his mother... but why did he know that? In all the years since her death, Charles had not seen so much as a picture of his mother... his father had destroyed them all.  
Just then, the sound of laughter could be heard in the distance... echoing off walls that had not known human sounds for centuries. It must be Carolyn, Charles Collins thought as he quickened his pace, no longer concerned about such childish things as ghosts, vampires, or whatever-the- heck the other thing was. He had to find Carolyn!  
Charles followed the sounds of the laughter to an abandoned section in the East Wing. He saw a room at the end of the hall... and a light was on. He squinted his eyes to attempt a closer look; but, yes, it appeared that light was coming from beneath the doors of the room! He ran to the end of the hall, yelling as he ran...  
"Carolyn! Carolyn, is that you?"  
He reached the door. The laughter was definitely coming from inside. In fact, there was the sound of music as well! He knocked on the door... but there was no response. He knocked again, this time calling out to Carolyn... and, again, no response. Charles was reticent to open a bedroom door without being invited, but he felt that at this point he had little choice... he opened the double doors...  
Mother! His mother was inside... but not a ghostly apparition; but, rather, a living, breathing human being. She was tall and thin, with long, flowing blonde hair, large, blue eyes, and a narrow nose over her wide smile. One thing was different, however, than the vision of his mother that he had seen yesterday... this woman was old enough to be his mother, as old as she would be today had she not died so young. She was dancing around the room and singing and laughing... then his father came into the room.  
David Collins looked older than he was, haggard and worn out. He looked at his wife with a look that could be described only as pity combined with bitterness. Charles called out to them, but they didn't appear to hear him. He tried to enter the room... but could not. It was as if some invisible force field were keeping him from reaching his parents. Why can they not hear?! I can hear the music and the laughter. WHY CAN THEY NOT HEAR ME?!!!  
"Catherine!" David Collins called to his wife.  
"Yes, Dear," came the response, almost lilting out of her mouth as she continued to dance and laugh.  
"Stop that! What the hell are you doing?!"  
"Why... dancing, My Love."  
"I can see that... but why?", the last word was laced with anger.  
"Because Charles is here with me." Then she could see and hear him! Charles called out to his mother again; and again received no response.  
David Collins stormed across the room and grabbed his wife violently. "Stop it! Stop it, do you hear me?! Listen to me! Charles is dead! Do you hear me, you crazy bitch! DEAD!"  
Catherine Collins stopped dead in her tracks. The smile that had painted her face so beautifully fell to a frown of despair.  
"NOOOOOOOO!!!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"  
David motioned toward the opposite door – opposite door, where would an opposite door lead to – and a man came into the room. The older man pulled out a syringe , thumped the needle professionally with his finger, and then injected Catherine Collins with it. In seconds she melted into her husbands arms. He laid her gently on the bed.  
"How much longer will she be like this, Doctor?" David asked.  
"Until you provide her with professional help, Mr. Collins." The doctor's tone was laced with sarcasm and a total lack of sympathy.  
"No Collins is going to go to a nutt-house, Doctor!" David had obviously had this conversation with the doctor before.  
The doctor packed his things and headed for the door, "Then this Collins will die insane. It's never easy for a mother to lose a son, but to lose one the way poor Charles died... it's a wonder that both of you aren't losing your grip on reality."  
"I'M NOT DEAD!!!" Charles Collins screamed, but no one heard.  
"I know, Doctor... I know," and with that, David walked to the doorway where Charles was standing, and closed the doors. Charles grabbed the doors and flung them open again, forcing himself against whatever this invisible shield was. As the doors flew open, Charles stumbled into the room...  
Nothing.  
The room was completely empty... and had been for years. There were no signs of his parents... no sound whatsoever. Charles Collins stood in this dank, empty room and wondered if, in fact, he were going stark, raving mad.  
"I AM NOT DEAD!!!!!" He called out to no one in particular.  
"No, you are not," a lady's voice answered him from the hall. Charles looked to see a beautiful young, dark lady.  
"Who are you?! Are you a ghost?!" Charles Collins was, indeed, beginning to lose touch with reality.  
"No, I am Magdalena Rakosi... I am the new maid to Mr. Barnabas Collins. Who, may I ask, are you?"  
Charles Collins started to laugh... he laughed a lot as he fell to his knees. When his knees touched the cold, hard floor of the room, his laughter turned to tears. He ran his fingers along the dust-shrouded floor, crying into his lap... screaming that he wasn't mad. Magdalena – obviously as brave as she was beautiful – took him in her arms. She raised him to his feet, and slowly led him from the room.  
"Quiet. Shhhh. It's alright," she kept telling him, "We will just get you back to your room. You need some rest. I will prepare for you some hot tea, and I will tell Mr. Barnabas of your condition. I'm sure he will know what to do." At least, she thought, I hope he knows what to do.  
  
By evening, there was still no word from Carolyn or her abductor. The final night of the full moon cycle had taken Quentin and Vial once more to the mausoleum. Barnabas, Roger, and David sat in the Drawing Room with the sheriff, planning their next move. Willie was patrolling the estate. Magdalena –having settled Charles and stayed with him until the doctor arrived – was preparing a meal for the family with Maggie's assistance. Charles was asleep, sedated in his room; and Carolyn's children were in the study watching television; a useless gesture, perhaps, but it was Barnabas' hope that it might take the children's minds off their mother. He had opted to not tell them about the security tape yet, hoping that they might chalk up their mother's absence to her recent odd behavior rather than the serious matter it now was.  
"He's an odd looking fellow, I'll give you that," the sheriff said of the image of the kidnapper.  
"A disguise, I'm sure," Roger said. Although the image looked nothing like his new business partner, both Roger and Barnabas agreed that it must be Andrew Petrof. The height was about right, and neither of the Collins elders was much for giving in to believing in coincidence.  
"Well, we'll definitely look into your Mr. Petrof. Don't worry, Mr. Collins, my men and I will be on this until we find Carolyn." The current Sheriff Patterson was the son of the previous sheriff of Collinsport, a man who had been to the estate numerous times over his career investigating some odd occurrence or another. Roger was showing the sheriff to the door when Willie Loomis came in.  
"Anything?" Roger asked worriedly.  
"No, sir, Mr. Collins... nothin'," came Willie's response, "it's almost like she just vanished into thin air."  
"It's alright, Willie," Barnabas joined them in the foyer, "we'll resume the search tomorrow. Right now, I need you to run me into town."  
"At this hour, Barnabas?" Roger asked surprised that his cousin would leave the estate at a time like this.  
"I want to meet up with Quentin and discuss likely scenarios as to the motives of Carolyn's abductor."  
"I would think that would be better done here with David and myself."  
"I think it would be better to approach the problem from multiple fronts. You and David are more intuitive as to aspects of business, and should look at the problem from that perspective. Quentin and I, however, are more analytical as to family history; perhaps between the two of us, we can uncover something about Carolyn that might shed some light on the situation."  
"If you think it best, Barnabas," Roger said, sharing that knowing glance with David that continued to irk Barnabas to his very soul.  
"Come, Willie, I believe I know where we can find Quentin." And with that, Willie and Barnabas left.  
  
CHAPTER 6  
  
He stumbled back to Collinsport, his head throbbing, his heart pounding. What was happening to him?! What was he even doing back here? He had sworn he would never return to Collinsport. What if Barnabas saw him? True, the multiple cosmetic surgeries over the years had made him all but unrecognizable to anyone from his past... but Barnabas Collins was no ordinary person. He would know.  
He reached the Collinsport Inn and registered under the name of Blair Adams, the name he went by now. The innkeeper had asked him if he was okay... if there was anything he needed. He looked down at the bag strung over his shoulder. He appeared to have prepared for this trip... why couldn't he remember? The innkeeper asked again.  
No, we're fine.  
"Who said that?" the young man asked.  
"Who said what, son?" the innkeeper responded.  
"Didn't you hear that?"  
"Sorry, son. Are you sure you're alright? Maybe you should go lie down."  
Best be on our way before he calls Windcliffe to come and get you.  
No, please, no... not Windcliffe again.  
Then behave yourself... and keep your mouth shut!  
He reached his room and maneuvered his keys with his one good hand. He looked forlornly at the other... his right. It had been, what, almost a year ago since he'd lost use of it? He could still smell the stench of burning flesh as the orderly flipped his hand over and over on the hot plate he had been hiding in his room...  
  
"No cooking devices in the rooms!" The orderly had said to him.  
"It's just that I get so hungry sometimes... I thought it better than bothering anyone in the kitchen."  
"You'll eat when you're told to eat! I think it's about time you had a reminder that you are not a guest here! You do as we say! Freak!" It was then that the orderly had forced him down on the bed, pulling the restraints tight... and plugging in the hot plate.  
The memories get fuzzy after that...  
The orderly laughing as he uses the spatula to "flip" the hand  
Finally, the "freak" had had enough. With strength that he wasn't even aware he possessed, he ripped off the restraints; and with his one good hand, he grabbed the orderly by the neck and slammed him into the wall... before replacing his cooking hand with the orderly's head.  
That was all he remembered...  
  
That's because that was where I took over.  
But who are you? , he asked the voice.  
I'm the one who takes care of you... the one who will make them all pay for what has happened to you.  
He let himself into the room and immediately lay across the large bed, turning to look at his reflection in the mirror. Make who pay?  
The Collinses, of course. Barnabas... and Carolyn.  
NO! Carolyn was kind to me!  
No she wasn't... she laughed at you! They all laughed at you!  
Why are you here? What do you want with me?  
I need a body to take out my revenge against the Collins family... and you are going to help me, my boy. You are going to help me destroy Barnabas and Quentin Collins.  
I don't know any Quentin Collins.  
That matters not, my boy, because very soon he and Barnabas will come looking for you.  
Why? Why will they come looking for me?!  
Because, my son... you just murdered Carolyn Stoddard.  
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  
  
Willie dropped Barnabas off at the mausoleum. Quentin stood outside, smoking a cigar and looking up at the bright full moon. As Barnabas walked toward him, he couldn't help but wonder once more what had transpired to free Quentin from his curse of immortality. He was glad for his friend, of course. Both he and Quentin had sacrificed much over the centuries to preserve and protect the Collins family; both had paid for their sins many times over... and both deserved the rest that surely awaited them before too much longer.  
"Any word?" Quentin asked as he helped Barnabas the last few steps toward the crypt that held the poor young Vial Stone for the night.  
"None," Barnabas responded, "Roger is convinced that it is this Andrew Petrof."  
"And you?" Quentin didn't want to voice his opinion until Barnabas had confirmed his suspicions.  
"I believe there is little doubt, Quentin, that this Mr. Petrof is in some way connected to Petofi... if not Petofi himself."  
"You think Petofi finally found a body to inhabit here in the future?"  
"At this point, I'm not sure what to think."  
"But you do think we're dealing with Petofi, right?"  
"No, I can't say that I'm entirely convinced of that," Barnabas looked off into the distance, trying to formulate a hypothesis based on the information at hand.  
"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Cousin." As he uttered the last word, both men turned with a start as the howling emanated from behind the wall inside the crypt. While they were out here in the brisk Maine evening, Quentin's son was trapped in the body of an animal... an animal that desperately wanted out of its prison.  
Coming back to the matter at hand, Barnabas said, "If this man were truly Petofi, why the subterfuge? Why not simply attack us directly? If he has found a young body to inhabit, I dare say neither of us would stand much of a chance against him. No, I think that to get to the bottom of this, we must concentrate on the facts at hand."  
"I'm listening," Quentin wasn't sure he was following his elder cousin; but if there was an answer that wasn't Petofi, he was glad to hear it.  
"First of all, there is the move to take over Collins Enterprises. At first I thought that it was merely a ploy to get me away from the mansion, leaving Carolyn exposed."  
"And now?"  
"A maneuver of that scale would be months in the making, costing hundreds of thousands of dollars. I believe the move on the company is another front to this war. Whomever we are dealing with here believes that he has a rightful claim of some kind on the Collins family's holdings."  
"Disgruntled employee?" Quentin asked.  
"Possibly," Barnabas answered, still trying to formulate a working idea.  
"And how does Carolyn fit into this?"  
"At first I thought that whomever this was, be it Petofi or a Petofi pretender, had merely grabbed a Collins, any Collins, to get our attention."  
"But now?..."  
"Now I believe that Carolyn was another specific target... like the company."  
"Let me see if I'm following you, Barnabas," Quentin put out the remnants of his cigar, "you think that whoever is behind this is out for revenge against the Collins family in general and Carolyn in particular? Where's the Petofi connection?"  
"Whomever our adversary is, he knows the truth about us, that much is certain. Either he is Petofi, reincarnated in some fashion or other... or he is trying to imply that he is Petofi to let us know that he is aware of the truth about our pasts."  
"What makes you so sure?"  
"No one has actually said Petofi's name; yet the ring on the shriveled hand of Carolyn's attacker and even the name of Roger's business rival, Andrew Petrof, are both allusions to Andreas Petofi... messages to us that our secrets are no longer safe."  
"So we're looking for someone who has a definite mad-on for the Collins family, believes that he is deserving of a rightful share of the Collins fortune, and has some kind of personal vendetta either against or at the very least concerning Carolyn. Am I following you so far?"  
"Yes..." Barnabas suddenly had a very far away look in his eyes.  
"What is it?" Quentin recognized the frightened look awakening on his old friend's face.  
"My God, Quentin...," Barnabas looked at Quentin with a combination of fear, anger, and sadness on his face, "...Adam!"  
  
When the voice in his head had finally decided to leave him alone, the man once called Adam Collins took a long, hot shower. When he came out, he reached for the bag that he had brought with him. Inside he found things that sent shivers up his spine... a black cape... a jar of white make- up... a fake beard and moustache... a woman's necklace...  
A woman's necklace? He looked closer at it. It was a pendant. He opened it and saw the pictures inside, a young boy and younger girl. On the back was an inscription, We love you, Mom. Adam cried and put it back in his bag. He pulled out the only fresh change of clothes he had and put them on. Then, he went to sit in front of the mirror again.  
"Are you still there?" He asked the voice.  
Of course, I am with you always.  
"It's starting to come back to me, you know."  
Good! Good! You're confusion was really starting to annoy me.  
"Who are you... and why are you here?"  
My name is Count Andreas Petofi... and I'm here to live.  
"Why me?"  
One body is as good as another... or so I thought. You, however, are special... and you know that.  
"Special? How?"  
Don't play stupid, boy, I am as much a part of you as you are. You are the man-made man... the perfect specimen of human conditioning. You are taller, stronger, and faster than any normal man... and you haven't aged a day since your creation.  
Adam looked at his face in the mirror. Although not the face he was created with, it was still youthful and handsome nonetheless. Perhaps now Carolyn could...  
Forget about Carolyn! Remember, you killed her.  
No, Adam thought to himself, I could never hurt Carolyn. I love Carolyn.  
She was an old woman. Forget her and you can have any woman you want... after we are finished with Barnabas and Quentin Collins.  
"I won't do it. I won't help you."  
Alright, then... I'll leave if you want... and they will find you here and lock you up forever for what you did to Carolyn. You'll be the object of experimentation for the rest of your unnatural life. Good-bye, Freak.  
Petofi kept quiet as he allowed his host to mull over his options. If he'd had a body of his own he would have laughed at the sight of the gentle giant crying in front of the mirror for the woman he believed he had killed. This was working even better than he had hoped. Soon "Adam" would cease to exist, his mind lost forever in a continual wallowing of fear, doubt, and self-loathing... leaving Petofi to dominate the boy's body... and wipe out the Collins family once and for all.  
Wait, Adam said in his mind.  
Yes...  
I'll help you... what do you want me to do?  
Just relax... and listen to what I have in mind...  
  
Barnabas had spent most of the night re-telling the tale of the man known only as "Adam" while Quentin listened intently.  
  
Barnabas had, for a time, become infatuated with a young lady named Victoria Winters. She was governess to young David all those years ago, when Barnabas still existed as a creature of the night. When it became clear that she may uncover the truth about him, he had sought to use his mental powers to convince her to run away with him. However, there had been a car accident, and both were taken to the hospital in Collinsport.  
While there, Barnabas was treated by the mysterious Dr. Eric Lang. A gifted toxicologist with a hobby of the occult, Lang discovered Barnabas' secret and temporarily cured him of his vampire curse. He then agrees to help Barnabas to transfer his consciousness into a newer, younger body... one that Victoria Winters would be drawn to. Unfortunately, before the experiment could be completed, the doctor was murdered by Angelique, who had made some unholy alliance with the Devil himself to reincarnate her in the present after her violent death in 1795.  
Desperate to make the experiment work, Barnabas stole the body that Dr. Lang had created and took it to the basement of the Old House with hopes that Julia, using Lang's notes, might be able to complete the experiment. The body was successfully brought to life... but not the way it had been planned...  
Rather than transferring Barnabas' consciousness to the new body, he merely gave the body enough life energy to gain a life of its own. The creature was originally believed to be dumb, and Barnabas locked it away in the basement cell. He and Julia named their creation "Adam".  
Over the course of the next few months, Adam began to learn and grow into a living, feeling human being. He fell in love with Carolyn, but Carolyn did not return his affections... at least not the way Adam had wanted her to. Feeling shunned by Barnabas and Julia, Adam teamed up with an evil warlock who agreed to create a mate for Adam... Eve. Eve, however, proved to be a being of pure evil. She despised Adam for his innocence, and shunned him just as Carolyn had. In the end, Adam had been sent to a clinic to remove his scars... both physical and mental. No one at Collinwood had ever heard from him again.  
  
Barnabas and Quentin sat outside the mausoleum as Barnabas completed his tale of the man-made man. After a few minutes of silence, Quentin felt free to ask some questions.  
"You think this warlock might have something to do with what's going on now?"  
"No. I'm sure we've seen the last of Nicholas Blair." The mention of the name had caused Quentin to go completely white. "Are you alright, Quentin?"  
"Yes... yes, I'm fine. You say the name of the warlock was Nicholas Blair?"  
"Yes," Barnabas suddenly felt very nervous, "Have you heard of him?"  
"No... no," Quentin found his smile again, "The name just sounded familiar is all. Don't give it a second thought."  
"Alright," but Barnabas knew his cousin all to well; the name had some meaning to Quentin... God help him if it did.  
"So, you think that this young man we're after is this 'Adam'?"  
"I'm not quite sure. He would be about your age now... if he still exists."  
"Now, Cousin, you know as well as anyone that aging is relative... especially to a Collins."  
"He's no Collins!" Barnabas was clearly insulted by the insinuation.  
  
"Okay, okay. Calm down. Let's try to figure out what our next step should be."  
The sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. The moon was completely gone. Barnabas and Quentin retrieved Vial from his nightlong prison, and the three were soon on their way back to Collinwood. By the time they pulled in to the drive, Barnabas had arrived at a plan of action.  
"Whomever this is that we are dealing with takes a personal interest in the Collins family." Barnabas began.  
"Yes... and?" Quentin led him on.  
"If Petofi is behind this, in mind, spirit, or body, I believe he will tie his dealings with the estate... just as he did before," Barnabas reminded Quentin and informed young Vial that the entire time Petofi had inhabited Collinsport, he had made use of the many abandoned buildings on the estate itself.  
"Yes, you're right!" Quentin remembered.  
"We should split up and begin searching every edifice on the estate, standing or not."  
"Good idea, Cousin. Let's get the others."  
  
Within the hour, the family had met, gone over Barnabas' plan, and split up into search parties of two. Maggie would stay at the house, coordinating the searches from there. David had also opted to stay at the estate with Charles, who was resting comfortably and terribly embarrassed over his odd behavior of late. Roger had asked that Willie take him back into Bangor. Jeb and Victoria would continue to search the immediate grounds. Quentin and Vial had agreed to cover the old abandoned mill – which had been Petofi's hideout over a century ago – as well as the remains of Rose Cottage, and the gatehouse. Barnabas was going to search the basement of the Old House, which almost everyone was pretty sure was still intact. However, with Willie busy driving Roger back into the city, Barnabas was left with only one choice of a partner... Magdalena.  
As Quentin, Vial, and Willie all drove away, Barnabas was left outside with his new maid. He looked at her nervously. She was quite a beautiful young lady... and there was little mistaking her as a relative of Magda's. What an odd partnership Magda and Barnabas had made. She had hated him for enslaving her husband, but obliged Sandor's request to assist Barnabas in his mission through time. Little had Barnabas known at the time that his very presence in the past was already setting into motion those events he had hoped to prevent. Had Barnabas not come back in time to the year 1897, Sandor and Magda Rakosi would have most likely continued to travel through Collinsport, and Magda would have never met Quentin Collins... never discovered his connection to her sister's disappearance... and never afflicted him with the curse that would torture the Collins family in the future... and bring Count Petofi into all their lives.  
"How do we get to this 'Old House', Mr. Barnabas?" Magdalena asked. As she looked at her aged companion, her feelings toward him continued to be mixed. There was little doubt in her mind now that some way, somehow, this man was the vampyre she had come to Collinwood to destroy. However, it was just as clear that he was no longer a vampyre... and that the man he was now was a man of honor and duty... a man not unlike her father...  
"The quickest way is just down this path," Barnabas pointed toward the badly overgrown path that once led to the home of his birth.  
"Do you truly believe that we will find Ms. Carolyn somewhere on the estate?"  
"If her attacker is who he is trying to make himself out to be, yes, I am quite certain that we will find her somewhere on the grounds."  
"'Who he is trying to make himself...?" Magdalena asked confused.  
"I am sorry, Magdalena. I should not be thinking aloud. Chalk it up to an old man's senility."  
The two didn't speak for awhile. The made their way down the thin path to the ruins of the Old House. Magdalena held Barnabas' arm, both supporting her elderly companion, and allowing him to feel that he was in fact supporting her. She looked at him, at his strong features. His gray goatee that added that heir of distinction that he hardly needed. Around his eyes, however, he seemed to be even older than his body was testifying. She could swear that she saw in his eyes centuries of torment and regret... perhaps even about her father.  
Suddenly, she stopped. At first, Barnabas seemed relieved at the excuse to stop walking for a moment. He rested on a large stone just off the beaten path, resting his weight on his cane. Magdalena felt that this was her moment of truth. There would never be a better time for her to come clean with her new employer. She had to know if this was the man responsible for her father's death. She had to know before she allowed herself to become too much involved with the affairs of this family. She had to...  
"Why don't you tell me what's on your mind, my dear." Barnabas was looking right at her... no, he was looking right through her.  
This was it.  
"I know who you are." He didn't seem as surprised by her revelation as she would have expected. If she was wrong, she would have a lot of explaining to do.  
"And just who do you think I am?" He was feeling her out.  
"The vampyre responsible for the death of Sandor Rakosi."  
Barnabas' reaction was one of shock mixed with pain. It was obvious that she had guessed correctly, but it was just as obvious that the mention of Sandor was painful for him. He looked at her, almost at his wit's end. How could she have brought this up at a time like this? Mr. Barnabas was obviously distraught over the disappearance of Carolyn, and now she added this to him. Magdalena continued to scold herself silently as Barnabas Collins rose and approached her.  
"And who are you, my dear?" He placed his hand on Magdalena's shoulder. She looked up at him and the tears came to her eyes as she saw the tears welling in her companion's.  
"I'm his daughter."  
  
Carolyn Stoddard-Reyes could scream no longer. The water, which threatened to overcome her, was now at waist-level. For the first few hours she had been able to do nothing but scream, hoping beyond hope that someone could hear her. Now, her wrists and ankles ached from the metal shackles which bound them. Her head throbbed from the hours of screaming and crying. She had prayed and prayed, but thus far to no avail. Where was her benevolent God now? Her thoughts strayed to Bob. Would she be joining her husband shortly? What would happen to the children? Why hadn't Barnabas and Quentin come for her yet? Her head sank as despair consumed her.  
The water could be heard on the far side of the room. It was gushing at more than a gallon a minute as best she could figure. She had no idea how long she had been here... but could be certain that if no one found her soon, she would die here... cold... wet... and alone.  
  
Barnabas Collins sat on the cold stone at the side of the path to the Old House, looking off into the distance... a distance of more than a century. Magdalena was almost shaking she was so nervous. She could have slapped herself for bringing this up to Barnabas right now. She knew that he was who she had accused him of being by his reaction; a reaction of regret, with not one iota of disbelief on his face.  
"How have you come to be here?" Barnabas finally asked, still not looking at Magdalena.  
"I am still not quite sure of that, Mr. Barnabas. I came to Collinwood to find the vampyre responsible for my father's death. I was looking for someplace to hide in the Great House, when I came upon a stairway. I walked up it... and found myself here."  
"A stairway?" Barnabas knew exactly the stairway she was referring to; but it was supposed to have been destroyed in the year 1840. During their sojourn back in time to the year 1840, Barnabas and Julia had discovered the stairway, a scientific experiment being conducted by the Collins patriarch of the time. Once the time travelers had used it to return to their own time, Desmond Collins had sworn to destroy the staircase. Had he done it? If so, how had Magdalena found it in the year 1897? If he had not, why had Barnabas and Julia seen it disappear in the year 1971?  
"I know it sounds unbelievable, but when I got to the top of the staircase, I found myself still in the kitchen where I had started... but not the kitchen where I started. I know it sounds crazy..."  
"Not at all, my dear. I understand completely. Do you understand that you are no longer in your own time? Do you understand that you have come forward in time itself to the year 2001?"  
"Well, 'understand' may be too strong a word... but I do know that I am no longer in the year 1898, and that all my family and friends are now dead."  
"Quite probably, yes." Barnabas looked at her finally, "You have deduced, I take it, that I am no longer a vampire."  
"Yes. I'm also not entirely sure that you were responsible for my father's death any more."  
"Of that, I'm afraid, you are mistaken. I am responsible. Had I not enlisted the help of your parents all those years ago, your father would have likely gone on to lead a long and full life. I am responsible for his death... and the deaths of countless others. However, of all the deaths that I have caused, your father's is one of the ones I regret and ache for the most. He was a good man; and your mother a fine woman. Without their help, the Collins family would not be here today... and neither would I." He looked at the girl, the mixed emotions of sorrow, anger, and confusion exploding in her features all at once. "What has happened to the staircase that brought you here?"  
"I... I do not know," Magdalena tried to compose herself, to store her raging feelings so that she could deal with them better at a later time, "it disappeared shortly after I arrived. I have spent weeks looking for it... but it is gone."  
Interesting, Barnabas thought to himself. He was beginning to formulate a hypothesis. Could it be that past time lines, in fact, run congruently with each other? That while events were transpiring in the years 1970 and 1840, events were continuing to transpire in the year 1898? It could be, therefore, that while Magdalena was ascending the staircase in 1898, Desmond Collins – at that same exact moment – was destroying the staircase in 1841. By the time she had reached the "top" of the time band – the present – the stairway was destroyed in the past, closing the doorway. If that was the case, and the stairway had disappeared at that same moment in 1971 as well, it was possible that it would appear again during the course of the year, disappearing again at the same moment every year. Was that possible? Barnabas had to admit that in the areas of temporal physics he was not as educated as had been his friend Professor T. Elliot Stokes, or even his beloved Julia.  
He looked once more at his companion. He should not raise her hopes with his theories. However, Barnabas swore right then that he would begin a daily search for the staircase – with Willie's help, of course – and try to get this girl back to her own time. Magdalena now leaned against one of the massive trees along the path.  
"I could never expect you to forgive me," Barnabas finally said to her.  
"I... I do not know how I feel," she looked at him directly in his eyes, "I see that you are a man of honor. I do not know why or how you enslaved my father and forced your will upon him... but I cannot help but feel that you were in a position of few alternatives when you did so. If God, himself, has forgiven you and removed the curse of evil from you, who am I to deny you forgiveness?"  
Barnabas Collins closed the distance between them and gently took her hand. He returned her deep gaze and saw through to her very soul. This girl possessed all the strength Barnabas had so respected in her mother... but she also possessed the heart of her father.  
"You are too kind, my dear," he finally said to her, never releasing his gaze, "I can assure you of only this: I would have gladly given my life to save your father. So much was happening at the time, so much that I had no control over..."  
"I believe you," Magdalena was beginning to get lost in the gaze of her one-time nemesis. She touched his lips to stop him from talking. It was obvious that the regret this man felt over the sins of his past were almost too much for his aged form to handle. "If it is alright, Mr. Barnabas, we can talk more of this at a later time. Right now, we should continue the search for Ms. Carolyn." With that, she reached for his cane, handed it to him, and once more took his arm as the two continued toward the site of the Old House.  
  
It had not taken long for Quentin and Vial to search the abandoned Rose Cottage or the old mill. The mill had sent shivers up Quentin's spine such as nothing had in all the years of his long life. All the memories came flooding back of his and Barnabas' confrontations with Petofi. From his capture and torment of Barnabas in the coffin that still lay in one of the rooms of the mill, to the "body snatching" incident where Petofi had, for a time, inhabited Quentin's body... and left Quentin trapped in the old, decaying body of Petofi. No one had believed him when he pleaded with his family that he was, in fact Quentin. Finally, he had received help from Barnabas and Julia... and Angelique.  
The search of the mill, however, had convinced Quentin of one thing: they were not dealing with Count Petofi. There was no way that the count could have resisted the urge to put some manner of clue there in the mill. He would have done it purely for the shock value alone... to rub in their faces that he had returned and that their time of peace was up. Whoever this was might think he was Petofi... but he lacked the detailed knowledge of Petofi's encounter with the Collinses to pull it off completely. Quentin realized, however, that the fact that this was not Petofi didn't make their adversary any less dangerous; in fact, it may make him even more dangerous.  
Then there was Barnabas' theory of this "creature", Adam... a man-made man. Like something out of Frankenstein, this modern-day Prometheus might be searching for his creator to destroy him. If that was the case, however, then why the subterfuge about Petofi? There were still so many questions unanswered... and, in the end, Barnabas and Quentin could be completely wrong. He just hoped that, no matter what was behind this, they could at least find Carolyn and bring her home safely.  
Vial had been a breath of fresh air during all of this. Although wanting answers about his own curse, and questions of his father and family, the boy had put his personal interests aside in the face of an obvious crisis. He was everything that Quentin had never been in his own youth... and everything that Quentin had always been told a Collins should be.  
  
By noon they had reached the gatehouse. Unlike the mill or the cottage, the small house near the main gate of Collinwood was still in relatively good condition. It was dirty, of course, from decades of neglect, but it could still be livable with a little elbow-grease applied.  
The two men searched the rooms, the closets, the crawl-space, and even under the beds; but there was no sign of Carolyn... not even a sign that anyone had been here in years. Quentin called Barnabas. He and the girl had not had any more luck at the Old House. With its massive underground caverns and cells, the Old House would have been a perfect hiding place... if also a fairly obvious one.  
Quentin was about to give up, moving with Vial toward the front door when he heard the sound...  
Drip...drip...drip...  
He reached for Vial and led him back into the kitchen. They had already been through the room, but Quentin hadn't noticed the faucet dripping. A large brown stain existed at the base of the sink from eons of being pounded by the constant dripping of the faucet. What was it that seemed so odd about this?  
Drip...drip...drip...  
There was no well outside. And the house was far too far from Collinsport to be connected to the city water system...  
THE RESERVOIR! When the Great House was built, Joshua Collins had built a massive reservoir near the sea. Over the years, it had been modified to provide running water for the estate. Now, zoning laws required that the estate draw from the county facility just outside of Collinsport, but the old reservoir was surely still there.  
Quentin snapped open his cell phone and called Barnabas again, "Barnabas, has anyone searched the old reservoir?"  
"The reservoir! No, I don't believe anyone has! It's not far from here. Magdalena and I will meet you there. Do you remember how to get there?"  
"Are you kidding, cousin? Many a young maiden was deflowered by me in that reservoir!"  
"I should have guessed as much. We shall see you there, Quentin. Hurry!"  
Quentin and Vial had the Mustang running toward the coast road before the cell phone was closed.  
"Do you think we'll find her there?" Vial asked his father.  
"If she's on the estate at all, she's there."  
"This reservoir... why would he take her there?"  
"I don't know," Quentin contemplated for a second, "I mean it's not the best place to keep someone if you're..."  
"What?"  
"Hit the pedal kid! If I'm right, we might be too late as it is."  
  
Carolyn's head lay in the water. Although it had only risen to breast-level, she could hold her head up no longer. Why hadn't they come for her? Where was Barnabas? Would he look out for her babies? What would they think?  
Her wrists bled, but she could not feel them any longer. She was too exhausted to cry... to exhausted to feel fear. All she could do was wait... wait as she felt the water inching its way up her body... wait for oblivion to overcome her... wait to be reunited with Bob.  
Carolyn Stoddard-Reyes felt the water sliding up her neck. It would not be long now. She had finally figured out where she was. She had played here as a child. The bottle-necked reservoir of the estate. She would die within screaming distance of her own home. She had figured it out... why hadn't they?  
She could feel the water on her face. She wasn't sure anymore if it was splashing from the water, or her own sweat, or her own tears. She wasn't sure of anything anymore... only that she was ready for it to all be over.  
  
David watched quietly as his son slept. When the doctor left last night, he had told David that Charles was suffering from some kind of exhaustion. Exhaustion? David knew better than that... but he didn't tell the doctor that. How could he explain to the doctor that what the boy suffered from was actually being a Collins? David stood and walked to the window. He pushed aside the curtain just enough to look out onto the grounds of the Great Estate of Collinwood. Why was it that such a beautiful place was cursed with such horrors?  
Out there, somewhere, Carolyn was being kept against her will by yet another manner of evil. Such was life at Collinwood. Other families of wealth had their fair share of trials and tribulations. Look at the Kennedys of Massachusetts, for example. But few families – none, actually, as far as David knew – were cursed the way that the Collinses of Maine had been. Although he had repressed his memories of child hood for years, his work with Dr. Jacobs had brought it all back... like some kind of nightmare.  
His own mother, he recalled, was – or at the very least believed herself to be – an immortal phoenix, a creature of fire that resurrected every century-or-so to bring sacrifices to her god, Ra. David almost laughed. It sounded like something out of a really bad science fiction movie. It was no laughing matter, though, as David well remembered. He had been the intended sacrifice when he was only eleven years old. Instead, he had been rescued by Vickie Winters, his governess at the time. David had watched helplessly as his mother was consumed by the very fire meant for him... presumably to return a century from now. She had been a monster... his own mother, a monster. Monsters, however, were the least of Collinwood's problems. The more common supernatural phenomenon on the estate had been the ghosts. Every large house had their own ghosts, he supposed, but the ghosts of this house all had very sad stories. Whether the specters were good or bad seemed to make no difference. The Collins family had suffered misery and pain every generation of its existence.  
First, there was the ghost of Josette Collins. She had inhabited the Old House since her death in 1795. She was benevolent and beautiful as David remembered, and you could always tell when she was near because the room would be overcome by the sweet scent of jasmine. David used to go to the Old House and play when he was a boy, and Josette would always be there. It seemed to him that his being there brought a smile to her otherwise sad features. She had committed suicide while still a newlywed, but no one had ever figured out why... and she wasn't telling anyone. Nobody had believed him when he used to talk about her, chalking up his adventures to the overactive imagination of a young boy. Vickie knew the truth, though. She had seen Josette herself; Josette and his other spectral friend, Sarah Collins.  
Sarah had died just shortly before Josette. She died as a young child, and for a long time, David had not even been aware that she was a ghost... because Sarah herself didn't quite understand that she was, in fact, dead. She wandered the estate looking for her family, not understanding why none of them ever came home. It was really rather sad, now that David actually thought about it. Centuries of wandering, never knowing peace... he wondered if that were, in fact, the fate of all Collinses. After a time, however, both Josette and Sarah had simply ceased to appear. He sincerely hoped that they had, at long last, found rest.  
Not all of Collinwood's ghosts had been pleasant, however. There was Quentin Collins, the ancestor of the man of the same name that even now searched the grounds for Carolyn. The spirit of the deceased Quentin had haunted Collinwood for a time, at one point forcing the entire family to evacuate and live for a time in the Old House with Cousin Barnabas. Cousin Barnabas! Just saying his name, anymore, sent shivers up David's spine. Of all of the Collins "ghosts", Barnabas was the most terrifying of all.  
The current master of Collinwood was previously the heir to the entire Collins fortune... two centuries previously. David remembered now that the ghost of Sarah had taken him once to the basement of the Old House, where David saw the coffin. It was just turning nightfall, and it wasn't long before the lid of the coffin opened, and out came Barnabas Collins! He was a vampire! An honest to God vampire! It was no wonder, now that he knew the truth, that Barnabas had looked so much like the eighteenth century portrait in the foyer of the Great House. It was him. The shock had been too much at the time, however, and David had repressed the memory and had never been able to warn anyone in the house... not that anyone would have believed him anyway.  
And Catherine... God, how he missed his sweet Catherine. He looked back at the bed where Charles slept soundly. What had the boy seen in that room? Magdalena had told him all that Charles had mumbled the night before. Something about Catherine being alive and he being the one who was dead. Was it all just ranting? Had he really seen something in that room? David remembered well that Barnabas had given strict instructions that no one enter that room ever, but no one had ever told David why. His father knew, but even he wouldn't say anything. Cousin Quentin knew, but usually had laughed the matter away as a joke. Now, looking at his son sleeping, David Collins was tempted to go to that room and find out for himself. Barnabas had ordered Willie to board the room up as soon as possible, but David knew that the caretaker hadn't had an opportunity to do it yet, not with the search for Carolyn paramount in everyone's mind. He bent and kissed his son on the forehead, something he hadn't done since Catherine's death.  
The image of her death was still fresh in his mind. Coming home from work that day, he opened the Drawing Room door downstairs and there she hang. Her beautiful face was white as the blanket of snow on the front lawn had been. She had used something akin to garrote wire; God only knows where she had gotten it. It had been so sharp that with the weight of her body, it had sliced half way through her throat, and a pool of congealing blood lay in an almost perfect circle. David had rushed to cut her down, knowing it was too late, and slipped in the blood. On the floor he found the note; although "note" might not be the right word. It had only a single word, scribbled in Catherine's own handwriting, "Quentin".  
No one knew at the time where Quentin was. He had left the estate years earlier for parts unknown. For a time, David had thought that perhaps the ghost of the original Quentin had returned for revenge against David and driven his wife mad. Barnabas and Julia, however, had had a different explanation.  
Catherine had become obsessed in the preceding weeks with the name Beth Chavez. According to Barnabas, this lady had been a chambermaid on the estate nearly a hundred years before. She had had a torrid love affair with the Quentin Collins of that time. For reasons unknown, she had committed suicide out of fear that Quentin was going to kill her. That had made sense to David considering his own experiences with the ghost of Quentin Collins. It then occurred to David that if Barnabas had known all about this Beth Chavez, he could have said something sooner, so that someone could have helped Catherine. Barnabas had assured him that both he and Julia had done everything they could to help, but David still found that difficult to believe. "Everything" would have included telling the rest of the family what was going on! "Everything" would have included sending her to Windcliffe for therapy before she had the opportunity to hurt herself! "Everything" would have saved her life.  
That was when David had decided that it was time to leave Collinwood for good. He took Charles, bought the Bangor house, and swore to never return to this cursed house; and he had lived up to that pledge... until Aunt Elizabeth's death. Now, after just a few days back, here lay his son... on the brink of insanity.  
Charles blinked just then, groggily coming back to consciousness. He looked up surprised to see his father standing over him. "What's happened?"  
"It's alright, Charles," David sat next to him on the bed.  
"Carolyn!" Charles remembered, "Has Carolyn been found?"  
"Not yet. Everyone is out searching the estate now."  
"Why are you here?"  
"Because I was worried about you."  
Charles remembered then. He remembered the room and all that he had seen. "Am I going mad, Father?"  
"No! Of course not. You're merely exhausted is all. The disappearance of Carolyn has been a sudden strain on all of us."  
"I should get up so we can join the search."  
David Collins stopped his son from getting up, "No you don't. The doctor suggested rest and that's exactly what you'll get. Do you remember any of what you were saying before you passed out?"  
"I remember the girl bringing me to the room. What is her name?"  
"Magdalena, she's the new maid that Cousin Barnabas just hired."  
"Yes, she found me in the room in the East Wing."  
"Yes. She said that you were crying out that you weren't dead... what did you mean?"  
"Father, it was so real!" Charles tried to remember it all, "I was in the hall, looking into the room. I saw Mother! But not as she was when she died. She was your age. She was singing and dancing. The room was beautiful and lavishly decorated. Then you came in and were scolding her. She said that she was happy because I was there; but you shook her and told her that I was dead. Then a doctor came in and gave her a shot to put her to sleep. You closed the doors, and when I opened them and fell into the room, there was nothing there. It was dark and dingy and covered with dust and cobwebs. Father, what is going on?!"  
"I'm not sure son... I'm not sure."  
  
CHAPTER 7  
  
When Barnabas and Magdalena reached the reservoir, Quentin and Vial were just pulling up. Barnabas was out of breath and Magdalena forced him to sit down, Quentin and Vial jumped from the car and ran to meet the others.  
"Barnabas, are you all right?!" Quentin asked.  
"I'm fine. Hurry! Check to see if Carolyn is inside." Barnabas leaned on his cane as he sat on the stone railing surrounding the massive reservoir.  
Quentin and Vial ran to the door on the far side... welded shut.  
"What now?" Vial asked his father.  
Quentin looked up to the top of the bottle necked structure. "We're going to have to climb up. He started looking around for something to boost them up when Vial stopped him, putting his finger to his lips with a serious look on his face.  
"Do you hear that?" Vial Stone asked, the facts all falling into place.  
"Water." Quentin responded, "There's water running inside."  
"She's in there," Stone looked his father dead in the eye, "and she probably has been for going on thirty-six hours now."  
"He's drowning her!" Quentin began jumping to get a foothold on the side of the building; any kind of foothold that would allow him access to the roof. He looked to his side to ask his son for help, but Vial was nowhere to be seen. The younger man had already scaled the side of the reservoir.  
  
Carolyn looked toward the skylight. She had to hold her head back to keep above the water, which was even now threatening her chin. This was going to be it. She was going to die here... alone. Perhaps she would see her mother again. Perhaps she would finally have the opportunity to make amends. Something in the window of the sunroof caught her attention... a man! There was a man there. He didn't look like the man who had taken her; in fact, he looked as if he was trying to open the door! Was she saved? She started to scream for help... but no longer had the energy to speak. The water was splashing into her mouth. Her neck ached from holding it back for so long. There was no way her alleged savior could ever reach her in time.  
  
"It's welded shut, too!" Vial yelled from the roof of the reservoir. He pounded and pulled on the hatch, but the closing mechanism had been completely welded to the frame. It would take a while to break it open. Even if he broke the glass, the metal bars would prevent him from getting to Carolyn in time... if she wasn't already submerged, the water was quite high.  
"What do we do now?" Quentin asked Barnabas, urgently seeking the last minute miracle that always seemed to accompany his old friend in times of dire need.  
"I'm sorry, Quentin," Barnabas looked exhausted, "I have no idea."  
  
Carolyn was about to give up completely. She could barely keep her mouth above the water. She gave out one final scream with all of her might. When the last echoes of it had receded out of the building, Carolyn heard the silence... the dead silence. The water had stopped.  
Slowly, she began to feel the water recede from her body. As the water level lowered, the pace at which it receded sped up. Within minutes, her body was clear of the water. Finally, the room was empty once more... the only sound being that of the dripping that presumably came from the intake valve that until a few minutes ago had been the source of her impending death. She began calling into the darkness...  
"Barnabas? Quentin?" Carolyn squinted her eyes to try to make out some form in the darkness. The voice that responded was not from either of her two cousins... but just as familiar to her.  
"Carolyn?" The feminine voice called to her from the void.  
"Mother?" Carolyn cried as she spoke the word.  
"Yes."  
"Am I dead?" Carolyn wasn't quite sure she really wanted to know.  
"No. I have been allowed to come to your aide one more time."  
"Why?"  
"Because my love for you is more powerful than the boundary that separates us."  
Carolyn's head hang low as she cried from a mixture of confusion, exhaustion, fear, and regret. When she finally found the will to look up, there was her mother, as beautiful as ever, standing before her. Her hair hang at shoulder length, and the kindness in her eyes was as vivid and tangible as it had been in her life. All around her there was a misty light that wasn't quite smoke, but wasn't quite light. She wore the conservative suit that Maggie had chosen for her to be buried in. But the age and worry that had lined her lovely face for so many years was no longer present. Carolyn wanted so much to reach out and touch her, but the manacles that held her to the wall were still in place.  
"Mother... I'm so sorry." She broke down into tears once more.  
"It's all right, Carolyn. Everything is all right. The others are outside and will be in to get you shortly. Take good care of yourself and the children; and always remember that I will be with you always. Good- bye, Carolyn." With that, the spectral image of her mother disappeared.  
"Mother!" Carolyn screamed into the darkness, not wanting this moment to end... not wanting to lose her mother again.  
I will always be with you echoed once more throughout the dark chamber.  
  
Barnabas and Quentin were calling to Vial for information. Did he see Carolyn? How high was the water? Was he all right? The questions seemed to come from some other place as Vial watched what transpired in the well below. He had seen the water recede. He had seen the ghostly image walk across the massive room, and once it reached the side, he had seen Carolyn still alive. But he couldn't believe his eyes. Ghosts?  
"Stone?!" Quentin called from the ground, "Is everything all right up there?!"  
"Yeah," Vial said as he finally found his voice, "everything's cool. The water has been shut off and emptied out. Carolyn's in there. I can't see too well, but she appears to be all right."  
"Emptied? How?" Quentin asked incredulously.  
Vial looked down the side of the reservoir. His face was white as a sheet, it was almost as if he'd just seen a...  
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you." Vial uttered as he shook his head.  
Quentin looked at Barnabas. "What do you think?"  
"I think that for every curse this family suffers from, there are an equal number of blessings." Barnabas sat once more on the stone railing, leaning heavily on his cane.  
Just then, Willie pulled up. Barnabas had called him when they had discovered the entrances welded shut. He was just returning from taking Roger into Bangor, retrieved a blowtorch from the tool shed, and met his friends at the reservoir. He jumped out of the car and headed straight for the door, without saying a word to anyone. Within minutes, the one-time professional thief had the door open. Quentin was the first to run inside.  
"Carolyn?!" Quentin called into the darkness, shining a flashlight in all directions.  
"Over here," came the weak response. Quentin and Willie ran to her and started working her free from her shackles. Her wrists and ankles were cut and her clothes were wet from water and blood. Her face was black from the running of her mascara, and her beautiful, shoulder-length blonde hair was matted to her head.  
"Are you all right?" Quentin asked as he and Willie took her gently in their arms and began leading her to the door.  
Carolyn looked back into the room where her mother had been standing with her only minutes before. Even after all the terror she had experienced in the last however many days it had been... it had all been worth it. The one last chance to speak to her mother had made it all worth it. She cried and threw her arms around Quentin's neck, laughing into his chest, "I've never been better."  
  
Adam gathered his things. He had to get out of Collinsport soon. Barnabas and Quentin would have found Carolyn by now... and, if not, they soon would... and too late at that. He dressed in the suit that he had purchased at the tailor's the previous day... the same tailor that Barnabas Collins used. He grabbed his walking stick, and headed for the front desk. He paid his room tab and checked out. The car he had ordered had arrived and he informed the driver to make for Bangor as fast as he could. He had to take care of some business as Andrew Petrof.  
Why are we doing this? Adam asked his co-habitor.  
Because, my dear boy, to truly take out our revenge against the Collins family, we must hit them where they live... Collinwood. Once we take over the family's financial holdings, Collinwood will be vulnerable! Don't you want your birthright?! Barnabas Collins is the master of Collinwood... and YOU ARE HIS ONLY SON!  
Barnabas' son?  
Yes! And once you control the fortune and the estate, you can make all your dreams come true.  
But... Carolyn...  
Carolyn is dead you ridiculous fool! Remember... you killed her.  
That's not true... she's not dead... we tied her up... in the... in the... in the place where the water is. We did it so that Barnabas would find her in time. That's it! We didn't want to kill Carolyn after all! We wanted Barnabas to find her... we want him to find us... we...  
Shut Up! Shut Up, you Cretin! Even if Barnabas and Quentin are able to find her, do you really think she could ever forgive you for what you have done to her? You are truly as stupid as they all believed you to be, aren't you?! You are a hopeless fool... and that is all you will ever be!  
NO! I am not stupid! I am smart! I outfoxed the guards at Windcliffe! I transferred the money that Julia had set up for me to the account of Andrew Petrof! I built it into a multi-national conglomerate! And I set up Collins Enterprises for takeover! Not You! ME! Adam Collins! You are merely a figment of my imagination.  
That was it. In the blink of an eye, Petofi was no more. Finally, after more than a year, Petofi was gone from his mind. Adam didn't need him anymore. It was true that he was due much from the Collins family... and he would get what he was due. It was regrettable that Carolyn was quite probably dead... but he couldn't bother himself with that just now. For now, he must continue the takeover of Collins Enterprises as Andrew Petrof. Once he had control, he would announce himself to the family as who he truly was... Adam Collins.  
Although admittedly not Barnabas' true son per se, he had been brought to life by Barnabas and Julia. His life force was that of Barnabas Collins. He was as close to being a son to Barnabas as a creature of his origins could be said to be a son of anyone. How was Mary Shelly's creature known? Frankenstein! The name of the man who created him. That was exactly what Adam was, after all. He was the culmination of dead body parts, electricity, and the life essence of Barnabas Collins... that "life force" was the closest Adam would ever have to a soul. And now that he was rid of the bothersome Petofi, he would continue on his own... making his own destiny.  
  
The family gathered around Carolyn at Collinwood. The doctor had come and looked her over, and aside from the obvious physical and mental strain of her experience, she appeared to be all right. Carolyn's main concern, of course, had been to see her children. Jeb and Victoria were overjoyed to see their mother alive and well. They hugged and kissed her and refused to leave her side.  
Barnabas called Roger in Bangor to tell him that Carolyn had been found and was all right. Roger was relieved, but said he was remaining in town to concentrate on this Petrof takeover. He had asked for David, but no one had seen him since they had returned with Carolyn. Magdalena had gone to check on Charles, but his father had been nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he had gone out looking for Carolyn as well; if so, he would return shortly.  
Carolyn and the children went up to her room so that she could freshen up and rest. Maggie and Magdalena went to the kitchen to prepare something for everyone. With Charles asleep, Roger gone, and David who- knows-where, Barnabas and Quentin were left to contemplate their next move. Quentin had asked Vial to stay because he had proven so valuable so far. The young Mr. Stone was only too happy to oblige his father's wishes.  
"So, where do we go from here?" Quentin asked Barnabas.  
"Well, you heard Carolyn," Barnabas seemed confused and almost at a loss for words, "the man who took her claimed to be Count Petofi." He walked toward the mantle, leaning heavily on his cane, and stroked his gray goatee as he looked at the portrait of his late wife, Julia.  
"Then you don't think it was this 'Adam' anymore?" Quentin knew that if he kept Barnabas thinking, the answers would present themselves.  
"I'm not sure what to think, Quentin." He looked deep into the green eyes of the portrait. She always had the answers... the alternatives. He had always been able to count on her for contingency after contingency.  
"Well, we have to do something. We can't just sit here and wait for him to strike again." Quentin looked to Vial. His son nodded in agreement.  
"We're not." Barnabas had come to a conclusion. "First, we will take the stills from the security camera and go into Collinsport. We'll see if anyone recognizes him or has seen anyone strange around town of late."  
"That'll be hard. So many ships in and out of here, there're new people around all the time."  
"I didn't say I expected results. It's merely logical to start there first. Afterward, I think it wise for you and I to go looking for Adam."  
"You still don't think Petofi is behind this, do you?" It was obvious that Quentin was beginning to question Barnabas' ability to figure this one out.  
"I haven't discounted it; but I still can't help but feel that if Petofi were truly behind this, he would have made his presence more obvious to us. The motivation here screams to me of Adam. I think we should start there. After all, he will be easier to find than a man who's been dead for over a hundred years."  
"So, we just leave the family unprotected?"  
"No," Barnabas looked from the portrait to Vial, "not unprotected."  
"You want me to stay behind?" Vial asked, standing and joining the men at the fireplace.  
"If you wouldn't mind," Barnabas spoke very plainly and matter-of- factly, "I can think of no one I would rather have protecting Collinwood. Willie will, of course, be around also. Even if Charles and David do not stay, I believe the women and children will be safe in your custody."  
Quentin looked at his son, "We'll understand if you say 'no'."  
"'Course not. I'm honored you trust me that much."  
"You've proven invaluable thus far," Barnabas put his hand on the young man's shoulder.  
"Okay, then," Quentin looked back to Barnabas, "where do we start?"  
"When he left Collinwood many years ago, he had gone in search of a plastic surgery clinic suggested to him by Professor T. Elliot Stokes. Stokes has passed away now, but he left all his papers to Julia. I still have all of her belongings boxed away in the attic."  
"Tell you what," Vial had an idea, "while the two of you look for what you need, I'll run into town with the photos. I'll go ahead and knock that part of the plan out while the two of you work on this other angle."  
"While I deeply appreciate the offer, Mr. Stone," Barnabas smiled, "I believe that Willie is more suited to the task. Should a stranger appear in town asking strange questions, I'm afraid that the citizens of Collinsport would not be very cooperative. Willie, on the other hand, is known by one and all in town; and would be most cooperative with him." He looked at his cousin once more, "Now we should be off to investigate the attic."  
"The attic, huh?" Quentin looked up at the ceiling of the Drawing Room, "in all my life I've never heard of anyone going up there."  
"Willie took the boxes up there. He reported nothing unusual."  
Quentin looked back at Barnabas, "'Nothing' is unusual in this house."  
"Let's get started," Barnabas ignored Quentin's misgivings, "whether we are dealing with Adam, Petofi, or some other phenomenon, we haven't a moment to lose."  
  
David had left once Charles had gone back to sleep. He couldn't resist the temptation anymore. He had to go see the room in the East Wing. Collinwood was a massive building, large enough to house an army if necessary. When Joshua and Jeremiah Collins had built the house in 1795, they had done so with the express hope that the entire Collins family would live there in perpetuity. Since the family would only grow larger with succeeding generations, it seemed logical to build a house large enough that it would never require adding on. However, the family had not grown as expected. With the deaths of Jeremiah as well as Joshua's only two children – David shivered as he remembered that Joshua's son, Barnabas, was still alive and well – Joshua had been forced to adopt his orphaned nephew, Daniel Collins. It was Daniel who was David's own great-great-great-great- grandfather. Unfortunately, Joshua's generation was not the last to see misery and death in the Collins family. In fact, the family had only "flourished" with the survival of one or two children per generation. By the dawn of the twentieth century, the only Collins living in Collinwood was David's own grandfather, Jameson Collins.  
As a result, the expense of keeping up the entire house had seemed unpragmatic. So, while the north and south porticos of the house remained open and used by the family, the massive east and west wings of the house had been sealed off for generations. This had, in David's own childhood, provided countless adventures; including the run-in with the ghost of David's Great-Uncle Quentin in the abandoned West Wing. Thoughts of that experience stopped David dead in his tracks, and immediately brought his mind back to the present.  
As he moved forward once more along the deserted hallway of the East Wing, the only sound was that of his own footfalls. The dingy curtains were so tattered and covered with dust and cobwebs that their original color was no longer discernable. In fact, the entire wing was completely colorless. Decades without light or life had caused the rooms and furnishings to decay from lack of use. From where David now stood, he could see the room in question at the end of the hall. Every step he took toward it seemed to only push it farther away. It was almost as if some unseen force were desperately trying to keep him from reaching it.  
Finally, David Collins reached the room he had been ordered away from most of his life. The room, which even now threatened the sanity of his own son. He opened the doors, half-wanting and half-dreading the possibility of seeing what his son had seen... his beloved Catherine alive and well. He reached for the knob, his heart pounding, his hands sweating. He turned, pushed, and saw...  
Nothing.  
He entered the room and looked around. It was exactly as Charles had described it looking when he, himself, had entered it. Dark, dank and musty. It was devoid of furnishings... devoid of life... devoid of Catherine. He turned to leave once more when a sudden dizziness overcame him. A bright light flashed, and when David once more caught his bearings, he was no longer looking out the door into the hallway... he was looking out a window.  
He turned around and saw that the room was now bright and full of light. It was lavishly furnished. It was obviously the room of a married couple, as clothes and toiletries of a man and a woman were both visible. The giant four-post bed was made, with clothes laid out on both sides. It had been late afternoon when David had come in this room, but the sun shining through the windows told him that it was now morning. Had he passed out? Where was he? This didn't look like any of the rooms of Collinwood that he knew of. He started when he heard people approaching the door on the far side. David slid under the bed as quickly as his middle-aged body would allow.  
"Wasn't that a wonderful breakfast, Dear?" Catherine!  
"No, actually, it was not, Dear." The voice sounded like David's own, but laced with bitterness. David tried to look from where he was, but could only see a reflection of the man's back in the mirror.  
"Daniel, why must you always be so brooding and difficult? We should be coming closer together. Especially now." The woman began to cry, "Especially with our Charles gone."  
Charles? Gone?  
"He's gone because of you. Why should I 'be there' for you?!" This 'Daniel' was quite the ass, David thought to himself. The woman broke down crying and ran from the room. The man followed, visibly angry that he was having to do so. David slid from out from under the bed, stood up, and began dusting himself off.  
"Who the hell are you?" The man had returned. David turned to see...  
His own face!  
"Oh my God," was all that David could mutter.  
"Who are you?" Daniel Collins asked.  
David pushed past his identical twin and raced from the room. Once in the hallway, he realized the he was no longer in the East Wing of Collinwood... at least not his Collinwood. The hall was richly decorated and furnished. Wherever this was, David knew, it was not where he was supposed to be. He turned to run into the room again. He would simply have to face his opposite number and figure out what to do from there. David opened the door... and no one was there.  
  
Daniel Collins looked around him at the dismal room he had once known as his own. However, it wasn't quite his room. The door and shuttered windows were on opposite walls from where he knew them to be. There was no furniture, no nothing. Confusion and fear gave way to outright fury.  
"Where the hell am I?!" Daniel Collins yelled into the darkness. He busted open the door and looked into the equally dismal hallway. "Catherine!" Where the hell was that crazy bitch? Who was that man? The man who looked just like him.  
  
Quentin Collins forced open the door to the attic. No one had been up there in years. Quentin helped Barnabas into the room and then shone his flashlight around until he found the only light source the room had, a single light bulb with a dangling chord as a switch. He pulled the switch, but was surprised at how little light it actually gave off. The room was massive, even though he could only see a few feet in any direction. Barnabas pointed toward a chest near the entrance.  
"That's it," Barnabas ached for Julia as he looked at the trunk that held all her worldly possessions. He had not even had the heart to go through them when she passed away; so angry he was at Fate for once more having deprived him of happiness. He knew, though, that Julia had been a meticulous record keeper, and that she had several journals, no doubt putting to paper her own thoughts and perceptions of their many adventures together through time and space. Although not a creature of the supernatural as he had been, Julia had traveled through time with Barnabas, once using the I-Ching wands to travel to the year 1897 to help Quentin; and then using the very stairway through time that Magdalena had used to get here. That time, she and Barnabas had found themselves in the year 1840, when the stairway had been erected. That trip had put an end to the curse over the Collins family once and for all... or at least that is what they had thought. She had also traveled into a parallel universe to find and save Barnabas. The room in the East Wing of the mansion – the very room, Barnabas feared, that was now responsible for the delusions being suffered by poor Charles – that for some reason was a gateway between dimensions, where mirror images of the same people that existed here lived very different lives, depending on different decisions made at key points in time. One could walk into that room and in the blink of an eye find him or herself in another time... trapped until the room would alter itself again, an event that was both random and uncertain.  
The sound of the clasps of the trunk being opened brought Barnabas back to the here-and-now. Quentin opened the lid and stood back, allowing Barnabas the first look into the belongings of his departed wife and best friend. Barnabas pulled out a stack of journals and handed them to Quentin. Of course! These would likely prove more valuable than would Stokes' papers. If there were anything in this trunk related to Adam, Julia would have undoubtedly mentioned it in her personal journals. The younger of the two men sat and began thumbing through the pages of the top journal.  
"What are we looking for?" Quentin asked.  
"Look at the dates. We are looking for any journals written in 1968 or beyond, and for any mention of Adam."  
"Here's one dated 'July 13, 1967': 'My ruse as a family historian has gotten me into Collinwood. I suspect that I will find evidence as to Maggie's abductor here. Although I cannot confide this with Woodard, I believe that the answers lie in the Old House here on the estate, and with Mr. Barnabas Collins in particular.'" Quentin looked at Barnabas askance.  
Barnabas smiled, "She was an intelligent and clever woman. I'm glad she was ultimately on our side."  
"True! How very true." Quentin continued through the journals as Barnabas looked at the other items in the trunk.  
Barnabas found Julia's doctor's bag. That bag that always managed to have whatever was needed at the time, from mild sedatives to his own inoculations against his vampire curse. Under that, he found, folded neatly, the dress she had worn when they had left the past in 1840. They had been in such a hurry to return to their own time, they hadn't even noticed until they arrived in 1970 that they were still in period costume. Barnabas smiled as he remembered them looking at eachother, laughing quietly, and running as fast as they could to Julia's room so that she could change, and he could escape via the secret wall passages to the Old House. He pushed the dress aside and found a jewelry case. In it, there was the emerald necklace he had given her so long ago. When he had asked her to marry him, he had given her an emerald ring. More rare than diamonds, he had felt that the stone symbolized the rare and wonderful relationship they had shared over the years. The following day, he had bought her the necklace to go with it. She smiled that broad, room- brightening smile that she had and ran to the mirror to put it on. How those stones had brought out the shine in her own green eyes. Barnabas felt a tear coming to his eyes, when Quentin's voice interrupted his reverie.  
"Here's one, Cousin," Quentin began reading, "'February 16, 1968: Barnabas has asked me to continue Dr. Lang's experiment and transfer his mind and soul into the abominable creature that Lang has created. Oh, why is he so infatuated with Vickie?! Yes, she is young and beautiful, and I am neither...'," Quentin stopped, "Sorry, Cous."  
"It's alright, Quentin," Barnabas fought back the tear at the thought of the hurt that she had lived through on a daily basis as she had loved him while he childishly pursued women who had no interest in him whatsoever. "How I hurt her so."  
Quentin put down the journal and moved to the next, opening it near the middle and running his finger down the pages looking for the word 'Adam'. "Here we go! 'December 22, 1972: I heard from Adam today! He says that the people at the clinic that Elliot suggested to him were unable to remove his scars completely, so he opted for an entirely new face. He thanked me for the bank account I set up for him years ago and asked if Barnabas knew about it. God help me if he does! Ha-Ha! Ah, well, I think there is enough Collins wealth to allow me to provide for my only son. He wants to meet with me in Bangor later this week for a holiday meal together. Dare I tell Barnabas? He hated Adam so. I just don't know what to do...'".  
Barnabas closed the trunk and sat down hard on it. "I remember that trip to Bangor. She said that a colleague needed a consultation on a patient before the holidays. I never doubted her for a second."  
"Like we said, 'clever girl'," Quentin smiled and put his hand on Barnabas' shoulder, "She was a hell of a woman, Cousin."  
"She was indeed." Barnabas looked at the journal in Quentin's hands, "Read on. We have to find some trace of where Adam has been, what he has done, and why he has seemingly come back for revenge."  
  
Daniel Collins made his way quietly through the ruins of the East Wing of the estate. What in the hell was going on here? Was he dreaming? It looked like there had been some kind of massive explosion or something. He remembered back to when he was ten years old, just after his mother had died. His grandfather, Timothy Stokes had gone mad and tried to burn down the Great House. That was what the house looked like now. Obviously it hadn't, there was no burnt remains or carbon scoring; but the house looked just as dead as if it had been destroyed all those years ago. It was deserted. All the rooms were empty... and by the way they looked, had been for years. Where were his father and Maggie? Where in the hell was Catherine? He fumed at the thought that that crazy bitch might in some way be responsible for this! First Charles' death, now this.  
The angry man stopped in front of a broken mirror. He looked at the mangled reflection. What was the deal with that man in his room? The man who had looked just like him. Well, almost like him. Daniel had a broad moustache, and was not dressed quite as nice as the imposter had been. A conservative sweater and khakis were about as uptown as he could afford these days. As he looked around at the decaying hallway, he thought about how much the house reminded him of his own life.  
His father, Quentin, had been bed-ridden for months now. He had assumed control of the family business... and all but run it in the ground. Then there had been Charles' suicide. Charles had learned that Daniel was putting all the blame for the destruction of The Collins Corporation on his only son... and Daniel Collins was good at planting the blame. His son was due to spend the next five to ten in the state pen if all went well. How selfish Charles had been! Little bastard! Had he rather it had been Daniel? His own father? Ungrateful little shit!  
Daniel walked into the room that, growing up, had been his own. He remembered when his father had first brought that bitch, Maggie, into this house. Daniel's own mother was not even cold in her grave yet! Along with the maid, Hoffman, Daniel had done a pretty good job of running the whiny little minx out of here... until "Cousin" Barnabas showed up! For awhile there, it even appeared that his mother might not have been dead after all! She came back to him! Just like she had promised she would. All they had to do was convince Father and everything could get back to normal... but that trouble making Englishman wouldn't let well enough alone! How Daniel had wished he could have gotten revenge on the old fool for that! Then his mother had died for good... and Quentin and Maggie were reunited... happily ever after. But what about Daniel?! Did anyone ever once consider his happiness!  
He walked over to where his special hidden door had been, and pushed. It's still here! Daniel pushed the hidden passage the rest of the way open and crept inside. Dim lighting lit the way about every fifty feet or so. He chose a direction and began following it. These passages hadn't been used for decades! Who put these lights in here? And why? He made his way along the halls, hoping deep down that the secret passages of Collinwood might lead him to the answers he sought.  
  
With everyone safely home at last, the time had come to prepare a true meal for the family. Magdalena chopped lettuce for the salad while Maggie began to thaw some meat in the... what had she called it?... "micro- wave"? Magdalena was still nervous around the kitchen. She hadn't taken into consideration when she came up with her plan to work for the Collinses that so many new inventions had come about in the century since her disappearance from her own time.  
She was alright with the gas stove, that had not been difficult to figure out, and the running water inside the kitchen was a true godsend... but the little micro-wave box with its beeping buttons and turning plate looked absolutely satanic! She sought every opportunity to stay away from it, and so far it had not appeared to make Maggie the least bit suspicious.  
"This won't be nearly enough meat," Maggie said to Magdalena, "I should run out to the freezer and see what more I can find."  
The "freezer"? Magdalena thought to herself. Best to just play along for now, though, "Alright, I will continue to work on the salad."  
"Alright," Maggie smiled at her, "Be back in a minute."  
With Maggie gone, the kitchen was very quiet. So quiet that Magdalena's thoughts soon roamed from what she was doing to her run-in with Barnabas earlier that day. He had been the vampyre! She thought to herself. For just a second, anger took over her once more... then she remembered how penitent he had been. He truly grieved for Sandor Rakosi! Magdalena had to admit that Mr. Barnabas was unlike any man she had ever met before. He was so strong... so responsible... and yet so kind and tender. Hard as she had tried, she simply could not hate him. Obviously, her father had been a devoted servant to Mr. Barnabas, just as Mr. Loomis now was. Perhaps it hadn't been a spell that had kept Sandor attached to the vampyre... perhaps her father, too, had seen what an honorable man lay at the heart of Barnabas Collins... vampyre or not.  
"Need some help?" The sound made Magdalena jump nearly out of her skin!  
"Excuse me, sir?" She finally found enough of her voice to respond to the young man who spent most of his time with Mr. Quentin. He was an attractive enough man, a little older than she was; long sideburns – the way men in her time had liked to wear them – that nearly met at his chin; his shirt – if one could even call it that – was scandalously close to his body, with no sleeves at all. On it was a picture... a wide, yellow oval with a black bat in the center. How odd. She thought to herself before realizing she had been staring at the man's chest for some time. Magdalena felt herself blush and quickly sought to say something – anything – before he realized what she had been doing. "Can I help you, Mr...?"  
"Stone. You can just call me 'Stone'. All my friends do. And, I was just about to ask you the same thing. Do you need any help?" He looked at her with penetrating blue eyes that were set deep in his pale, but not at all unattractive face. He was smiling at her; obviously having caught her staring at his chest. How inappropriate! Her mother would have strangled her!  
"No, sir, no thank you," she looked down as she spoke to him. He walked up to her and gently touched her chin, raising her gaze to once more meet his.  
"Hey... it's alright. You don't have to lower your eyes to me," his words were soft and she could not help but look up at him as he continued, "Besides, would you deny me the chance to look into those beautiful brown eyes?"  
The sound of someone clearing their throat caused both of them to jump a little. "Am I interrupting something?" It was Maggie. She had come back from the "freezer" with a box that Magdalena could only assume was filled with meant. She had a big, accusatory smile on her face.  
Magdalena pushed away from this Mr. Stone and immediately returned her gaze to the ground. "No, ma'am. I'm sorry. I was just..."  
"It's my fault entirely." Stone gallantly interjected, "I had told Quentin I would check on how dinner was progressing, and unfortunately startled the young lady." Magdalena's breath was nearly taken away and she could not help but look at him once more.  
"Well, that's quite alright, Mr. Stone," Maggie kept smiling at the two of them, "Is Quentin trying to tell us that he's hungry?"  
"Oh, not at all, ma'am," Stone continued, "He's gone to the attic to look for something with Barnabas, and I felt a little useless just sitting in the Drawing Room. Can I be of any help in here?"  
"I told him 'no', that we..." Magdalena was now desperate to put some space between the mysterious Mr. Stone and herself; but it was obvious that Maggie was having none of that.  
"Of course you could!" Maggie walked over and put her arm around Magdalena, "We'd appreciate any help you can offer," she looked directly into Magdalena's embarrassed eyes, "Couldn't we, dear?"  
"Of course," Magdalena responded, returning Maggie's gaze. She then looked again at Stone, "Of course we could." What was she doing?!  
  
In the attic, the search for clues as to the whereabouts of the creature called Adam was beginning to bear fruit. After going over what seemed to be countless journals, Quentin and Barnabas finally came to what was originally Julia Hoffman-Collins' last journal. The cover said '1985', that had been the year of her death. Barnabas gave it to Quentin, unable to bring himself to read it.  
Quentin thumbed through the pages, careful not to intrude upon Julia's precious and private final thoughts; but just as carefully looking for the name 'Adam'. It had been clear that Barnabas had been uneasy with Julia's mention of Adam as 'her only son'. It was obvious that Barnabas' loathing for Adam was deep and unbending. Quentin was still not even sure that this man – or whatever he was – was responsible for Carolyn's disappearance; but when it came to matters of deduction, Barnabas' abilities were unparalleled. Finally, Quentin came across the word he sought.  
"Here we go! 'March 22, 1985: I feel poor Adam has gone completely insane. He wrote to me this week, ranting about how Barnabas owed him... about how we had all abandoned him and left him to die alone. What is he talking about? I want so badly to discuss this with Barnabas... but I just don't know how best to broach the subject with him. Their resentments and bitterness toward eachother are so clearly clinical textbook examples of a father-son relationship... but I believe each would rather die than admit that even to themselves.'"  
Barnabas sat stiff and looked into the darkness, not wanting to look at Quentin. Not wanting to give credence to Julia's observation, but respecting her opinion too much to openly disregard it. Quentin read on...  
"Here's another one. 'May 1, 1985: I committed Adam to Windcliffe today. I didn't want to, but even he agreed it was for the best. For some reason, his body is not aging! He looks different since his plastic surgeries, but he remains as youthful as when he first came into being. My only conclusion is that since the body was created from dead tissue, the potential for growth and aging seems to have remained dead even though the experiment successfully brought life back into them. It has affected Adam terribly. He considers himself a freak and blames Barnabas and I for creating him to begin with. I only hope that the doctors at Windcliffe can help him.' Well, there's your answer, Barnabas. Sounds to me like he went off the deep end, and Julia tried to take care of it without bothering you with it."  
"Yes, my own hatred of Adam caused her to bear the burden alone. How could I have been so selfish, Quentin?" Barnabas looked to his cousin, the tears welling in his eyes.  
"It's okay, Cousin. You couldn't have known what was going on. She handled it alone because she loved you so much... and I assure you she never gave it a second thought." Quentin sought a way to change the subject, "But now we know where he is... or, at the very least, where he was. What do we do now?"  
"We'll drive up to Windcliffe tomorrow," Barnabas stood. He was tired and didn't feel like thinking more about it tonight. "Hopefully, we will find him still locked up and secure. If I'm right, we will not. If not, we will simply have to find out all we can about when he left and where he went." He placed the remaining journals back into the trunk, keeping the last one.  
"Think you'll learn more from that," Quentin asked, pointing at the journal in Barnabas' hand.  
"Of Adam? No." Barnabas Collins held the journal in both hands, desperately feeling for any sign that his beloved Julia was still there with him. "But I do want to read some more. I miss her so much, Quentin. As much today as the day she died."  
"She was one of a kind, that's for sure." And with that, the two protectors immortal of Collinwood descended the stairs to join the others for dinner. As Quentin closed the hatch to the attic, darkness once more enveloped the massive room. The trunk holding Julia Hoffman-Collins' belongings gently scooted of its own accord from the center of the room back to its original place along the wall. The sound echoed off the still walls of the attic, and as it finally stopped gently against the wall, a gentle whisper followed in its stead... speaking a word dear to its orator's heart...  
Barnabas...  
  
CHAPTER 8  
  
When Daniel Collins emerged from the secret passage, he found himself outside the Great House. He walked along the grounds back to the front door of the south portico. He let himself in, and there was Maggie.  
"David!" The older woman said.  
David? Daniel thought to himself, Who the hell is David? Whatever was wrong with the old bitch, he really didn't care. "What do you want?" Daniel Collins asked the woman he knew as his stepmother. Maggie seemed taken aback. What was wrong with her? He wasn't being any more rude to her than he had been for the last thirty years. Though, perhaps she was losing her mind at last. Wouldn't that be grand?!  
"I was just coming up to see if you and Charles were coming down for dinner."  
Charles?! "Have you completely lost your mind?" Daniel didn't care if he hurt her feelings; there was no way he was going to put up with two nutty women!  
"I'm sorry," Maggie looked to be on the brink between crying and getting angry. "Is he doing alright?"  
"What the hell are you talking about?! He's dead, Maggie!"  
"What?!" With that, she ran upstairs. Daniel wasn't quite sure what to make of all this, but he decided to follow her anyway.  
  
Upstairs, Maggie turned into the room that, in truth, had once been that of Charles Collins. Daniel followed her in, debating on locking the crazy old hag in there for good. When he came in, his jaw dropped to the floor as he looked on the bed.  
There was Charles! Maggie took his pulse and felt his head.  
"David, don't scare me like that!" She looked angrily at Daniel Collins, "Why would you even joke about such a thing!"  
"I... I'm sorry," what was going on here? Who was David? And why was Charles lying here alive and well? Daniel had seen him buried over a week ago! "I... I meant that he was 'dead' tired." Whatever was going on here, Daniel Collins knew enough to play along for now.  
"Well, alright... guess we're all a little on edge." Maggie smiled at him. Smiled at him?! In the thirty years that his father and Maggie had been married, he could count on one hand the number of times she had smiled at him... and on no hands the number of times he had smiled back. "Are you coming down for dinner, or would you prefer that I send Magdalena with something for you?"  
Magdalena? Who in the blue hell was Magdalena? "No... no, I'll come down. I'll be there in a minute."  
Maggie smiled once more and left the room. Daniel watched as she headed down the stairs, and closed the door to the room once she was out of sight. He walked back to the bed and stared down on the form of his son... lying there... alive.  
"Well, you little bastard," David smiled at him, "not as dead as we thought, huh. I'm not sure what the hell is going on here, but don't think this is going to soften me up any." He crouched down to his son, placing his mouth directly on his son's ear, and whispered to him, "You're going to jail, you worthless piece of shit! No way am I going to take the wrap! And while you're filling your days and nights with varying degrees of sodomy... I'll be sunning myself on the French Riviera. Thanks for not dying on me before I was through with you... it wouldn't have been as enjoyable without your suffering." With that, Daniel Collins stood and headed for the door, noticing as he did the bottle of pills near the door. Sedatives!  
He looked back at his sleeping son. He took out a pill and returned to the bed. He slowly opened Charles mouth, and poured in the powdery contents of a pill. Daniel then held his son's mouth shut and clamped down gently on his nose. Charles instinctively swallowed, ingesting the contents of the sedative, and never waking during the process.  
"Might as well keep you asleep till I figure out what's going on here." And with that, Daniel Collins left his son in a prison of sleep as he descended the staircase and headed to the dining room.  
  
Barnabas and Quentin sat at the massive table in the Collinwood dining room, discussing their plans for driving to Windcliffe the next day. Carolyn and the children soon joined them. Vial helped Magdalena to set the table and serve the family. Willie came in from the back door, having spent the better part of the afternoon completely draining the reservoir and looking for clues as to who had been there; and then going into Collinsport with the security photos, vainly asking all the night-time denizens of town as to whether they had seen anyone strange of late that came close to the description on the photo.  
"Anything, Willie?" Barnabas asked, not at all expecting that Willie had found anything. Whomever they were dealing with was very careful.  
"Nah... nothin'," Willie seemed tired and almost fell into his chair. Barnabas forgot sometimes that Willie was considered a "senior citizen" by now. Although tired and feeble himself, Barnabas enjoyed a certain amount of zest and endurance that a normal man of his age would not normally. Perhaps one of the positive aftereffects of his life as a vampire.  
After a few moments, Maggie entered, obviously flustered.  
"Is everything alright?" Quentin asked, believing that a face as immortally beautiful as Maggie's should never be furrowed in such a way.  
"I'm not sure," Maggie said as she looked behind her. David walked in just then, looking even more disgruntled than Maggie. Had the two had words? Neither Barnabas nor Quentin could imagine such a thing.  
"Good evening, David," Barnabas spoke to test the waters, "How is young Charles doing?"  
"Barnabas?!" Daniel Collins could not believe his eyes! He hadn't seen Barnabas Collins in more than thirty years! Yet, here he was at the head of the table. And his father, Quentin... what was he doing out of bed?! And... "CAROLYN!" He ran over to get a closer look at his cousin. But, Carolyn died decades ago! And why was everyone calling him 'David'?! What was going on here?! And, there, at the other end of the table... Will? Will Loomis? He had died even earlier than Carolyn!  
Quentin eyed 'David' carefully. "Are you alright, David?"  
Daniel took a moment to look around the room. Faces that were all too familiar... and familiar as being dead; faces that were not at all familiar. What was this? Had he gone completely off the deep end? NO! He was not crazy! He knew who he was and where he was! He was Daniel Collins! Son of Quentin and Angelique Collins! This was Collinwood! The year was 2001! Daniel soon noticed that everyone was staring at him intently. Maggie stood near the kitchen, with the most confused look of all.  
"Um..." he decided best to play along for now, until he could figure out what had happened, "Yes... Barnabas... um, Charles is quite well. He's sleeping. Has anyone seen Catherine?" He knew he'd made a serious mistake mentioning Catherine the second the word was from his mouth. Everyone looked at him as if he'd truly lost his mind. Was he dead? Was this Hell? He knew Carolyn and Will Loomis to be dead. It would not be surprising for old Barnabas to be dead. And how often had he prayed of late for old Quentin to finally die off? Maybe he'd joined the dead. Just his luck that the two bitches he despised the most, Maggie and Catherine, would survive to squander what money he had left!  
Quentin stood and offered Daniel a chair. "Here, David, sit down. I think you need to take a load off. Would you like us to call your father?"  
My father? Daniel thought to himself, You idiot! You're my father! However, he decided instead to continue to play along. "Um... no, thank you... Quentin... I'm fine."  
"You needn't worry about Charles," Barnabas assured him as he began once more to consume the feast before him, "the doctor assures me that he will be completely fine. All he needs is some rest... something I would recommend for all of us tonight."  
"Yes," Daniel continued to stare at him as if he'd seen a ghost, "Yes, I agree... Barnabas."  
Barnabas motioned for everyone to continue eating. A lovely young girl served Daniel a plate of food. Filet mignon and a vegetable salad! Daniel had not realized how hungry he was. He ignored the continued stares and ate voraciously. None of them mattered a wit to him anyway he laughed to himself. He wasn't sure where he was, but he wasn't in Kansas anymore, that much was for sure. Obviously, the Collins family in this place knew him to be someone else... and that someone was obviously loved and trusted. And Daniel Collins knew better than anyone that trust was the most dangerous weapon anyone could ask for!  
  
After dinner, Carolyn took the children out for a movie. 'David' excused himself to go and check on Charles. Willie wished everyone a good night and went to bed for the evening. Barnabas and Quentin retired to the Drawing Room for brandies. Maggie went into the kitchen and saw Magdalena washing the dishes... by hand.  
"Dear girl, what are you doing?" Maggie asked. Magdalena started at the sound of her voice.  
"Nothing, ma'am, just washing up the dishes and cutlery."  
"We have a dish washer for that," Maggie smiled at the girl's naiveté.  
"'Dish-washer'?" Magdalena looked completely confused. Maggie walked over close to where the younger girl stood and opened a door in the counter. Magdalena looked at he cavernous space with the blue and white racks. What in the name of all that is holy is that?!  
"Well, haven't you ever seen a dish washer before?" Maggie looked incredulous at the blank expression on the beautiful, dark, gypsy face.  
"No, ma'am, I have not."  
"Well," Maggie now felt embarrassed. Of course, the girl had obviously been brought up in the strictest of poverty. Even the microwave had seemed to intimidate her. "That's alright, I'll show you how to use it."  
In a matter of minutes, the dishes were clear, and the kitchen was clean.  
"Now, all we have to do is wait for the dishes to finish and dry, and we can put them away. Someday someone will invent something to do that too, I suppose," Maggie smiled at her own joke.  
Magdalena was about to say something when Stone walked in.  
"Anything I can help you ladies with?"  
"No, Mr. Stone, that's quite alright," Maggie smiled at him, and looked from him to the true source of his interest... her young companion. "Wouldn't you care to hang with the men drinking brandies and talking of conquests past?"  
"No, ma'am," Vial Stone leaned against the doorframe and returned her smile. "I never cared much for brandy... and, although an historian by trade, am quite uninterested in my own past 'conquests'." He then turned his gaze from Maggie to Magdalena, "In fact, I was wondering... if you are through with your chores... if you would care to go into Collinsport with me. I'm not sure what they have in the way of entertainment, but I'm sure we can find something to occupy ourselves with."  
He was so forward! Magdalena thought to herself. Not at all the type of man mother would approve of... and not at all the type that she would like herself; but there was something about this Vial Stone... something noble... yet... primal.  
"I think that's a marvelous idea!" Maggie untied Magdalena's apron and gently pushed her in the direction of her would-be suitor. "Magdalena is new here too, the two of you can tour the wondrous sites of Collinsport together."  
"But, Ms. Maggie, I..." Magdalena's heart was pounding through her chest.  
"I won't hear any excuses," Maggie put up her finger to shush the girl, "You deserve a night out after helping with the search today and the meal tonight. This young man has gone out of his way to help you this evening, and the least you can do is show him your appreciation by accompanying him to town." She turned to Vial, "And I expect you to be a perfect gentleman, Mr. Stone. If you weren't such an obviously good friend of Quentin's, I wouldn't be so quick to trust my young charge to your care."  
"You have nothing to fear, madam," Vial reached for Maggie's hand and gently kissed her knuckle, "I shall be a gentleman of almost Barnabas-ian proportions."  
"Careful, Mr. Stone," Maggie smiled and blushed, "You may be biting off more than you can chew right there." Few men could claim the charm and sophistication of Barnabas Collins.  
The handsome young man reached for Magdalena's shawl hanging on a hook near the door and placed it over the young girl's shoulders. He then grabbed his own jacket from a chair and opened the door for his date. As she walked out, nervous and unsure of herself, Vial Stone walked out behind her, stopping at the last moment to pop his head in the kitchen for one last word with Maggie Evans.  
"I'm sure it runs in the family." He smiled, winked, and left.  
Maggie stood in the kitchen alone and in shock at what she had just heard. "In the family?" Then Maggie closed the door completely, looked toward the Drawing Room... and smiled.  
  
In the Drawing Room of the Great House of Collinwood, Quentin Collins poured a brandy for his old and trusted friend and cousin. As he watched the red liquid pour from the decanter into the wide snifter, he wondered for a moment how many drinks he had poured in this house over the last hundred and thirty-five years. One hundred thirty-five years! The number still staggered him. Here he stood, with the physical appearance and limitations of a sixty-year-old man... all the while he had seen the coming and passing of an entire century: two world wars; countless political assassinations; prosperity and depression; the first motion picture; the first walk on the moon... all of that and more. Still, he could not remember something as personally important as the mother of his child.  
Vial had proven to be a true godsend. Quentin could hardly believe that it had just been three days ago that the young man had come into this house... and punched Quentin right in the mouth. Despite that, the two men had overcome the tension that a lifetime apart had caused, and struck a true friendship. They seemed to have bonded immediately. They had so much in common... and not just their physical appearance. Stone was a student of history... and Quentin was history.  
In more ways than one, Quentin thought to himself. He still had not discussed with Barnabas the means by which he'd managed to rid himself of his curse of immortality without reclaiming the curse that his son now suffered from: the curse of the werewolf. He turned and looked at his elder cousin. Barnabas was standing once more at the fireplace, leaning equally hard on both the mantle and his cane, staring into the face of the portrait of his late wife. Quentin looked up at Julia's dignified expression. What a lady she had been. So dedicated to Barnabas... to all of them. Why, Quentin wouldn't even be here today if it weren't for Julia...  
The thought hit him like a stone. It had been Julia who had found him in the hospital in Collinsport... and had explained to him that he was the immortal Quentin Collins. If she hadn't, he would have most likely picked up the life of the name on his driver's license... Grant Douglas. He still couldn't remember anything of those lost twenty-five years. Why? He would've gone back to this girl, Daphne, and raised young Vial and lived happily ever after; instead of...  
It all came back to the curse. Should he tell Barnabas about it? That name Barnabas had mentioned the night before in the graveyard... Nicholas Blair. It couldn't be a coincidence. What did it mean? Why would the devil rid someone of a hellish curse? What was in it for him? Was Quentin living on truly borrowed time? Would the future that awaited him be even more hellish than the one he had known? Had being immortal truly been so bad? Well, the answer to the last one was easy... 'yes'.  
He'd been forced to watch from a distance as those he loved grew old and died... never being able to say his farewells to them because he would have to explain why he still appeared to be a thirty-year-old man. Edward... Judith... little Nora... all of them died in this house... alone... and sad. Jamison had apparently died during those missing years. Quentin could at least live with some peace for that. He and Barnabas had gone to such lengths to protect Jamison – and, in the present, David – from Count Petofi. Why was Barnabas so intent on believing that the man responsible for all that was going on wasn't Petofi? Quentin wondered if part of it wasn't the knowledge that if it was Petofi, and if he had, in fact, managed to escape death, he would be more than either of them could handle. Was Barnabas, who had longed for so many years to be mortal and know the peace of death, now dreading that final voyage?  
"Your drink, Cous," Quentin extended the half-full glass to Barnabas.  
"Thank you, Quentin."  
"So..." Quentin wasn't sure where to go next with the conversation, "What do you think was the cause of David's behavior tonight?"  
"I'm sure he's just exhausted and worried about Charles." Barnabas sipped his glass as he came around and sat in the massive Victorian chair in front of the fire.  
"Come on, Barnabas." Quentin couldn't believe Barnabas had just said that, "He didn't know who anyone was! He looked at Carolyn and Willie as if he'd seen a ghost! And 'Will'? Who ever called Willie 'Will'? He looked at you as if he hadn't seen you in years... and looked at me and Maggie as if he would kill us in a second if he could..."  
Barnabas' expression froze.  
"What?"  
"Nothing..."  
"No, no, Cousin..." Quentin wasn't allowing him off the hook that easy, "You and I have been through too much... seen too much... to hide things from eachother."  
"Quentin, I really don't have an opinion of David's behavior at the moment," Barnabas lied. He did have an opinion... he merely hoped he was dreadfully wrong. Both Quentin and Barnabas knew about the room that had so startled young Charles yesterday. The East Wing room was a portal to a parallel dimension. David's behavior this evening would have been consistent with someone who had crossed over without knowing and was now in a time that was not his own. However, there was no David Collins in the parallel timeline. Roger had died childless there. The only child had been... Daniel. Yes, that was it. In that alternate reality, Quentin and Maggie were married; and Quentin had had a son by his first marriage. That boy had bore a striking resemblance to David... and would have been about the same age. But that couldn't be the answer. Tonight, David had clearly known of both Catherine and Charles. No, it had to be something else. Barnabas' attention was needed much more in the here and now and focused on the immediate threat... Adam.  
"Well, since you don't want to talk about David, let's discuss this Petofi thing," Quentin sat down on the sofa, visibly exhausted almost to his limits. For the last three days, he'd had to get to know a son he never knew he had... deal with that son's affliction with his werewolf curse – during the full moon cycle no less – and on top of all that, he'd had to help with the disappearance of and search for Carolyn.  
"I've told you all I know at the moment... we're not dealing with Petofi."  
"What makes you so sure? I mean, if it were this Adam guy, wouldn't he be as intent on letting you know who he was as Petofi would be? What about the hand, Barnabas? Would this Adam mutilate his own hand just to confuse and distract you?"  
"He might... if he thought the image would frighten me."  
"Let's think about this logically, Barnabas... first, there's the run on the company by this Andrew Petrof; obviously an allusion to Andreas Petofi. Second, there's the video of Carolyn's abduction where we clearly see the hand. And lastly, we find Carolyn being held right here on the estate... just like you said Petofi would do! Everything points to Petofi... and nothing points to Adam. If you ask me, Cousin, you conjured up this 'Adam' scenario and now you can't let go of it... and Julia's journals just fed fuel to the fire."  
Barnabas looked sternly at Quentin at the mention of Julia's name. Years ago, he might have yelled at his younger cousin for refusing to yield to his wisdom... but true wisdom prevented that now. "You may be right." He placed his glass on the small table next to him, "But my instincts tell me I'm right about this. I still think we should go up to Windcliffe tomorrow."  
"And leave the house unguarded?" Quentin paced across the Drawing Room shaking his head. "Who knows who this lunatic will come after next?"  
"I'm aware of the risks, but we can ask Willie and your Mr. Stone to stay and watch over the family while we are away. There really is little we can do until whomever it is makes another move."  
"I'm sorry, Barnabas, but I don't believe either Willie or Vial could handle Petofi... if that is, in fact, who we're dealing with."  
"Quentin, they would be just as equipped as would you or I. You must admit we are no longer at our best."  
Quentin knew that Barnabas was right. It couldn't hurt... and who knew where this lead of Windcliffe might lead them. It was certainly possible that this Adam was the culprit behind all of what was going on... just as possible as Petofi. In fact, now that Quentin thought about it, the word 'possible' seemed rather ridiculous when speaking of Collinwood  
"Alright, Cousin, you win," Quentin gulped down the last of his brandy and placed the glass on the coffee table in the center of the room, "now, if you'll excuse me, these old bones need some rest before we embark tomorrow on our quest to uncover the truth behind our renegade Frankenstein, or resurrected warlock ghost... or parallel visitor." He laughed as he headed up the stairs, knowing that his last words had let Barnabas know that there truly were no secrets between them: he suspected David too.  
Gently, silently, at the rear corner of the Drawing Room, a hidden panel slid quietly shut... and Daniel Collins moved quietly down the dark corridor back to his own room. Whatever was going on here, Barnabas and Quentin were too preoccupied elsewhere to give much thought to him... and Daniel would use the distraction to learn all he could about 'David' Collins.  
  
Adam wandered the massive grounds of the estate. True it wasn't Collinwood, but the Collins mansion in Bangor was just as luxurious. Tall garden walls protected the solitude that this family had so fervently protected over the years. Roger was upstairs... tied to a chair, with the door to his room rigged to a shotgun, the barrel of which lay directly against the miserable old man's head. Adam hadn't needed Petofi for that! Perhaps it wasn't as romantic as slow drowning in a reservoir... but Adam was pretty sure it would be more successful. Once the old man was missed, the first place they would look for him would be his own home... in his own room. They call out his name... they hear the muffled moaning... they rush to check on him... and bang.  
He smiled as he remembered the indignation in old Roger's voice on seeing his business rival making himself at home in the kitchen...  
  
"Petrof!" Roger was red with fury. "I knew it! Where is Carolyn?! I demand that you tell me, sir!"  
"Calm yourself, Rog," Adam smiled as he consumed the rest of the sandwich he had made for himself, "I have no doubt that the endlessly impressive deductive abilities of Barnabas Collins will once more save the day. I just dropped by to tell you that my thirty percent in Collins is secure."  
"Well," Roger's anger soon turned to condescendence, "then you will be happy to know that David and I have secured a sum of thirty-one percent thanks to..."  
"Barnabas," Adam laughed, "well, I'll give it to you, old man, that didn't take you long."  
"At any rate, the company is still secure in Collins hands. Before you can muster another two points, we will have secured Carolyn's proxy..."  
"If there's still a proxy to be secured," Adam reminded him, "if she's dead, it could take months, years even, to settle where her shares should go. No, Rog," Adam said as he got up and placed his hand on Roger's shoulder, "the way I see it, if they do find Carolyn, I can just... sell short."  
"Sell short! Why? What would it prove?"  
"That the Collinses are vulnerable." And with that, Adam had brought the frying pan he'd been holding behind his back across the forehead of the aged Collins patriarch.  
  
Adam walked out to the front of the house and got in the cab that had just pulled up. The driver asked him for his destination. The modern-day Prometheus looked with glee at the lighted window of Roger Collins' bedroom. This would be the one Barnabas Collins could not save!  
The secret identity of 'Andrew Petrof' had been orchestrated ingeniously! He had learned a lot about his alter ego today. Through him – and in no small way thanks to the massive accounts set up for him by Julia all those years ago – Adam Collins was the proprietor of a massive worldwide conglomerate of holding companies... producing nothing, but possessing massive amounts of stock in almost every major corporation in the world. His personal wealth rivaled the combined fortunes of the Collins men. It appeared that Petofi had done well for us for the months that he possessed this body... now it was Adam's turn to finish the game... and finish it he would.  
By now, Barnabas suspected who his opponent truly was. He would track Adam down to Windcliffe... and, oh, what glorious breadcrumbs he would find there! Then he would come for Roger... and Barnabas Collins would be able to claim one more corpse to his credit. Then, Barnabas and his friend, Quentin, would continue on their quest until it brought them to him.  
"Time for the end-game, Barnabas," Adam smiled as he watched the Collins' Bangor mansion grow smaller in the window.  
And beneath the surface... Petofi stirred.  
  
Nightlife in Collinsport consisted of choosing between one of two locations: the new movie theater – which had a large selection of two movies, usually each several weeks old before reaching Collinsport – and the Blue Whale. The Whale was a bar that had been in Collinsport almost as long as the Collinses themselves. It had changed, of course, over time, but it still stood as the town's oldest and most beloved landmark. To go inside was to see the vast array of individuals that made up the small Maine town. Everyone from transient longshoremen to local young people patroned the facility. The owner now was a man by the name of Kyle Rooney, who inherited the bar from his father, Bob, who had passed away nearly twenty years before. Earlier in the evening, Willie Loomis had been by to have a few drinks and ask questions about the mysterious stranger at Collinwood. Unfortunately, he hadn't found out anything at all. People came and went through Collinsport all the time, a strange face was nothing new; and, for the most part, the townspeople kept to themselves, their only topic of mutual interest being the ever-strange and romantic Collins family who lived in their dark and foreboding mansion high atop Widows' Hill.  
For now, however, a new couple graced the cozy little bar. Vial Stone pulled Magdalena's chair out for her as he motioned for the waitress. Then he sat down next to her... close, but not too close. He could see that his date was frightfully nervous, and although he had tried to ease her tension with some music in the car, she had seemed utterly terrified by everything from the radio to the vehicle itself. As he looked at her now, he saw just how truly beautiful she was as she stared in awe around the bar... and the jukebox in particular.  
"Would you like to hear some music?" Stone asked, desperate to make the girl feel more at ease.  
"From that?" Magdalena's face went from fear to awe, and finally to humor. She laughed, "No, thank you. I think I have had enough 'music' for one night." She hadn't believed the 'music' that Mr. Stone had been listening to in his – what do you call it – 'car'. She had listened intently to make out what the singer was saying. It had been horrible! Like a bat out of Hell I'll be gone when the morning comes... The young, time-displaced gypsy feared that she would never hear true music again.  
Stone was glad to see the smile come across his companion's dark, beautiful features. "I was starting to think that you would rather I take you back to the house."  
"Well, I must admit that I am not used to... how did you put it... 'going out'. My parents were pretty strict about interaction with boys... oh... excuse me, I mean 'men'. When I was old enough, they sent me to an all- girls school. So, I apologize if I seem apprehensive."  
"No apology necessary." Stone smiled as the waitress approached. "Two white wines, please." The waitress smiled back; attempting to catch Stone's eye... but the young man's attention was solely on his date.  
"Are you trying to get me inebriated, Mr. Stone," Magdalena asked, only half-jokingly.  
"No. I assure you, Magdalena," he said as he gently placed his hands on hers, "my intentions are strictly honorable. I meant what I said at the house... I'm not a man of 'conquests'. I merely happen to think that you are an incredibly attractive and interesting woman and I would like to get to know you better. From what I understand, we're both new to Collinwood. I came looking for the father I never knew. What brought you here?"  
Revenge, Magdalena thought to herself; but that answer would merely bring about more questions than she was prepared to answer. After all, by all rights, she was old enough to be this man's great-grandmother. Finally, the right answer came to her. "My parents worked for Mr. Barnabas many years ago... and he was kind enough to give me a job."  
"As a house servant? What did you go to school for?"  
"Um..." Magdalena was saved by the waitress' arrival with their drinks.  
"Ah, well... whatever brought you here I'm glad of it. I was so terrified of coming here... in fact, my initial intention was to break Quentin's neck."  
Magdalena looked at him as if she understood the feeling entirely. "Mr. Quentin is your father then?"  
"Yeah... yeah he is. I have to admit, these last few days haven't at all been what I expected. He's not at all what I had built up in my mind. He's so... so..."  
"Honorable?"  
"Yes... yes, that's it. He – at least from what I've seen so far – appears to be a good man. Barnabas too."  
Magdalena lowered her glass after taking just a sip, "Yes, I must admit that Mr. Barnabas is not at all what I expected. Although he is quite old, he seems so strong... so dignified..."  
"Whoa! Are you telling me that I have a competitor for your affections?" Stone teased. From Magdalena's reaction, he could tell that it had been an improper comment, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by that. I was only kidding..."  
Magdalena smiled. She wasn't sure if it was the sip of wine, or the atmosphere of the tavern, or Stone himself, but she was beginning to feel more at ease than she had been in weeks. "I am sorry. I did not mean to react like that. Although I must admit that a girl could be very taken in by the charms of Mr. Barnabas. He seems almost to be a man of..."  
"Of a different time..." Vial Stone completed her thought, and immediately regretted it. Of course he knew from his talks with Quentin the truth about Barnabas, but he shouldn't make such suggestive comments about the truth in front of the girl. As he looked at her, hoping that he was not showing that he knew something she shouldn't, he noticed her face... and her look of knowing something that he didn't. Who was this girl?  
"Well, Mr. Stone," Magdalena lifted her glass and took a bigger sip, "Have you decided to stay at Collinwood? I mean, do you have a job to get back to?"  
"My job is pretty much what I decide it to be. I'm a... well, for lack of a more laymen's term, I'm a 'tomb raider'."  
"A what?" Magdalena knew that her grasp of twenty-first century English was not what it should be, but she was pretty sure that she understood the words 'tomb' and 'raider'.  
"You know, from the video game?" Stone could tell from the blank expression on her face that she did not, "Well... basically, I hunt for treasure. You know, excavating and exploring ancient tombs and what not."  
"Are you successful at this 'tomb raiding'?"  
Stone smiled at the dark beauty, the dim lighting of the Blue Whale dancing in her deep brown eyes, "I get by." Just then someone chose REO Speedwagon's I Can't Fight This Feeling on the jukebox. Vial Stone stood and extended a hand to Magdalena Rakosi, "Would you care to dance?"  
The gypsy girl took the hand of the dashing 'grave robber' as he led her to the dance floor. The two looked into eachother's eyes and said nothing as they danced into the night.  
  
CHAPTER 9  
  
The drive to upstate Maine to Windcliffe Sanitarium was a quiet one for the most part. Quentin looked at Barnabas for some cue to begin a conversation. His older cousin was a thousand miles away, or so it seemed from the expression on his face. What a week this must have been for him. First there was the death of Elizabeth, then the shocking outcome of the reading of the will, returning Collinwood to its "rightful owner". How Quentin had laughed at those words. Elizabeth had no idea how true her words were... or did she? Elizabeth Collins-Stoddard was nobody's fool. As he thought of the Collins matriarch – his own grandniece – Quentin regretted not coming home to Collinwood sooner. He had become so wrapped up in his own life; he'd just never found the time. You mean never took the time, Quentin thought to himself. A man of his means could pretty well go wherever he wanted whenever he wanted. No, it had been something else that had kept him away. But for the life of him, he couldn't figure out what...  
"Just ahead, Quentin," Barnabas broke Quentin's reverie and introspection.  
Quentin saw the lovely white building on the hill. It looked more like a home than an asylum. He pulled into the gravel driveway, and on closer inspection he could see the evidence of what the structure's true purpose was. High chain link fences surrounded what would have passed for the back yard of the house. The beautiful dark green-shuddered windows were barred. The few patients that sat on the massive old front porch of the house were accompanied by large, muscle-bound orderlies. A lovely red- haired woman in a doctor's coat waved to the car from the front steps. As Quentin parked the car in the visitors' area, the woman came running to the car. He had to admit, she was quite the pretty little thing. He was unaware of the smile that had broadened his face until he turned and looked at Barnabas leering at him.  
"Quentin, she's young enough to be your granddaughter."  
"Great-great-granddaughter at least," Quentin smiled.  
"Let us not lose sight of why we are here," Barnabas opened the car door and began to get out. He looked back at his rascally cousin, "Shall we?"  
"Right behind you, Cous."  
The two men met the young lady at the edge of the parking area. Her doctor's coat covered whatever outfit she was wearing. Her long red hair was drawn up on top of her head, and large dark-rimmed glasses did their best to hide dark eyes. Quentin couldn't quite make out the color...  
"Mr. Collins?" Her voice was like a song!  
"I'm Barnabas Collins and this is my cousin Quentin Collins. I am truly grateful that you could see us on such short notice, Dr...?"  
"Tate... Beverly Tate." She smiled at the two men. "As I told your servant on the phone, Mr. Collins, Adam left here nearly a year ago. 'Escaped', I guess, would be a better word; but not before brutally murdering his orderly. I've had the staff gather his belongings as you requested." With that she turned to lead the two men into the hospital.  
"Why did we hear nothing of this? I don't recall the story being on the news." Barnabas' worst fears were already come to fruition. Adam had escaped, and had already proven himself capable of murder.  
"I am sorry, Mr. Collins, but we try to keep such incidents very quiet. We don't want to alarm the public, and all local, state, and federal agencies were alerted to the incident."  
"Have there been no leads as to his current whereabouts?" Barnabas made his way slowly up the steps. All the excitement of the last several days was beginning to take a physical toll on the otherwise robust seventy- plus-year-old.  
"Last reports had him in Europe somewhere... I'm afraid that's all we know." Dr. Tate opened the door for her guests. Barnabas, however, stopped to allow her to enter first. "We did mail his belongings to his only listed relative..."  
"Relative?" Barnabas stopped, "Who?"  
"Um... I wrote it down," the pretty young doctor looked at the clipboard in her graceful and delicate hands, "Here it is... Doctor Julia Collins... It says here it was returned as 'unmailable'."  
Barnabas remembered that since Julia's death, he had had all mail meant for her returned. He simply couldn't bear to have any more reminders of her absence around him. Her portrait allowed him to at least pretend that she were still here... but unopened mail was a horrible reminder of the truth... a truth that Barnabas was still not comfortable with even after sixteen years.  
The doctor gestured to the end of the hall just inside the entrance. "If you gentlemen will follow me, I can take you to the personal property room... Oh, and, Mr. Collins?" She added, looking at Quentin.  
"Quentin, please," Quentin Collins said with his most disarming smile.  
"They're violet," Beverly smiled.  
"They?" Quentin feigned ignorance.  
"My eyes... they're violet." She smiled and led the gentlemen down the corridor. Quentin's embarrassment was equaled by his own amusement. He looked at Barnabas, who had tisk-tisk look on his face.  
"This, my dear Cousin, is why you never formulated a relationship with Maggie," and with that Barnabas passed his cousin, coming alongside their charming young host.  
Quentin Collins shook his head and followed, suppressing a laugh.  
  
Daniel Collins had gotten up before the sun. His eavesdropping last night on the conversation between Barnabas and Quentin had yielded more questions than answers. It was clear that they suspected that he was not their 'David'; but nothing beyond that had been said on the matter. Whatever was going on with this 'Adam' fellow, it had their attention completely preoccupied. Once Quentin had excused himself for the evening, Daniel had made his way through the secret passages of the estate to see what he could hear elsewhere. He had finally found Carolyn's room. Daniel still had trouble believing that she was alive! He had remembered her dying when he was still a teenager! God, how hot she had been then! Daniel remembered how attracted he had always been to her. Even now, at... what... her mid-fifties... she was still a looker. When he had found her room, she was talking to Maggie... and he had been the topic of their conversation...  
  
"Did you think David was acting odd this evening?" Maggie had asked.  
"Odd? That doesn't even begin to describe it!" Carolyn was sitting on the edge of her bed, and Daniel-the-David-pretender Collins could see her easily from his perch in the corner. He remembered this room as being Carolyn's before she had married Will Loomis... and he also remembered well the times he would sneak here and watch her... as she undressed... as she admired herself in her mirror... as she...  
"But he looked at me with such malevolence! Quentin and Barnabas too!" Leave it to Maggie to ruin a perfectly good memory!  
"Did you see the way he looked at me and Willie?" Willie? "It was as if he were looking at a ghost!... Then, again, if it hadn't been for Quentin and Barnabas... he might well have been..."  
"Let's not think about that!" Maggie interrupted her once she saw how the shifting conversation was beginning to upset Carolyn, "You're alright now! You're safe here and Barnabas and Quentin are going to get this guy before he has the opportunity to do anything like that again!"  
"I hope so... but they're leaving tomorrow!"  
  
"Yes, but Willie will still be here... and, of course, our Mr. Stone." Maggie smiled at the mention of his name.  
Carolyn's eyes brightened, "Yes, tell me about our handsome new stranger! Who is he?!"  
"Can't you tell?" Maggie's coyness could be downright annoying most of the time, now that Daniel thought about it, "It's as plain as the nose on his face... so to speak."  
"You mean?..."  
"Mm-hmm," Maggie nodded excitedly, "he's Quentin's son."  
"And Quentin never knew?"  
Maggie Evans shook her head, "Apparently not."  
"Well," Carolyn began, smiling more to herself than her companion, "I can't say as that surprises me... Quentin was quite the ladies' man in his day."  
Both women began giggling hysterically. Daniel had wanted to throw- up! Didn't women ever grow up?  
"I'd say he still is..." Maggie baited her friend.  
"Oh, Maggie," Carolyn looked at her with a mixture of happiness and concern, "you and Quentin?"  
"Well, we went out the night of the funeral... but he's been pretty preoccupied since then."  
Carolyn held her lovely head back, as if inspecting Maggie, "I can see it. As a matter of fact, I'm not quite sure why the two of you never got together before."  
"He said the same thing the other night."  
"Well, then I hope he and Barnabas can catch this psychopath so that you and Quentin can get on with your hot romance."  
"Oh, Carolyn," Daniel could tell by Maggie's tone that she was blushing, "I think we're a bit too old for that!"  
"'Never say never', my dear!" Carolyn laughed, "Especially in this house!"  
Their joint giggles were enough to spur Daniel to close the hidden panel, return to his room, and call it a night.  
  
Now, he was on the verge of a new day... and needed a new strategy. Pretty sure by now that he wasn't having a nightmare, Daniel decided that in order to remain above suspicion, he had to seriously alter his personality. This 'David' that everyone seemed to believe was him was, at heart, apparently nothing like him. He was loved by the entire family. He was friends with Maggie and Barnabas... and Quentin was not his father. Will and Carolyn were alive... and apparently not married, as he had known them to be.  
So far this morning, he had already visited his loving son... and forced another sedative down his throat! The longer he could keep the little shit out the better! As he looked around the house, it appeared that this Collins family was even better off financially than his own... and he planned to take full advantage of that while he could!  
It seemed clear to him now that the imposter he had seen in his own bedroom yesterday had been the very man that everyone here believed him to be. The question now was: how did he get here; and, more importantly, where was here? Until he could find the answers to those questions, he couldn't be sure that the real David Collins would not return and expose him for who he truly was.  
As for this 'Vial Stone' – Daniel still wasn't sure whether to call him brother, nephew, or nuisance – he might prove to be a liability. If he truly was the prodigal bastard Maggie believed him to be, he might stand in the way of the acquisition of wealth that Daniel had in mind... he would have to be dealt with as soon as possible... but how?  
  
Morning at Collinwood had found Magdalena busy once more in the kitchen. Stone had gotten her back at a decent hour, and she had been intent on arising in time to prepare something for Mr. Barnabas and Mr. Quentin before they left for the day. Mr. Loomis had joined them and asked his employer what he might be needed for today. Barnabas had told him that he would not be needed and that he should take the day off, asking him only to stay close to the house in the event that any trouble should arise; he had followed that by announcing that Mr. Stone would also remain and would be in charge in Barnabas' absence. That had been when Magdalena spilled the coffee...  
  
"Are you alright, my dear," Barnabas moved quickly to assist her in stopping the hot liquid from spreading across the table.  
"Um... yes, sir, Mr. Barnabas... I am sorry."  
"Think nothing of it," Barnabas smiled at her and once more joined his comrades.  
"You went out with our young Mr. Stone last night, didn't you, Magdalena?" Quentin recognized the awkward nervousness of a young woman smitten. He smiled as he thought to himself, Chip off the old block, that's for sure.  
"Yes sir." Magdalena worked feverishly to gather everything and excuse herself from the room before any other inquisitions could begin.  
"I trust he behaved like a gentleman?" Barnabas attempted to hide his smile with his coffee cup.  
"Yes, sir, he..." Magdalena caught the three men smiling at her with accusatory glances and suddenly her nervousness had given way to secure coyness, "Yes, sir, he was quite the gentleman... if you will excuse me." She did her best curtsy and backed into the kitchen.  
  
She smiled now as she remembered the event. Looking out the window at the massive back yard of the house as she washed the last of the morning's dishes – again by hand – Magdalena Rakosi suddenly felt a mixture of guilt with her newfound happiness. She should be looking for ways to return to her own time... instead, she was making herself quite at home here. She no longer felt any trepidation whatsoever concerning Mr. Barnabas. He was truly a wonderful man. And Vial Stone... what was it about him?...  
"Do you ever stop working?" The words startled Magdalena so much that she nearly dropped the very same coffee cup that she had spilled only hours earlier.  
"I do not get paid to 'stop working', Mr. Vial," she could not stop herself from smiling. She truly was enamored of this young man. He had a sort of disarming charm... which she was beginning to believe was a Collins family trait.  
"Stone... please, call me 'Stone'. I never did like 'Vial'. I'm still not quite sure where my mother got that name." He walked over and began helping her put the dried dishes away.  
"Well... Stone, I'd like to thank you once again for a wonderful evening last night."  
"The pleasure was mine," he caught her eye as he closed the cupboard in which he had just placed the last of the coffee cups, "all mine."  
Magdalena nervously sought a change of subject, "When do you expect your father and Mr. Barnabas to return?"  
"Probably be night," Stone looked out the window. He still wasn't sure what all this mess was about... but he did feel a certain degree of pride that his new father and new cousin thought enough of him to entrust the family to his care. "Until then, young Magdalena Rakosi, I am the master of Collinwood."  
"Oh, yes, sir," Magdalena once more called upon her most patronizing curtsy. "Will you be needing anything, Mr. Stone?"  
He gently put his finger on her delicate brown chin. She looked up at him with those eyes that he felt he could get lost in forever. When he finally found his voice again, and relatively sure it wasn't going to crack on him, he said, "Just that smile... just that smile." He could feel from just the contact of her chin that she was as nervous as he was. Swallowing every ounce of what he was coming to know as 'Collins courage', he bent low, closed his eyes, and touched his lips to hers.  
Instinctively... she touched his face... and returned his gentle kiss.  
  
The cab pulled up to the main gate of Collinwood.  
"You sure you wanna be left here?" The cab driver was absolutely aghast that anyone would want to come to such a dreary place... day or night.  
"Oh, quite sure," Adam paid the man and turned to look up the long, winding path that eventually led to the Great House. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. As the driver sped away, Adam Collins looked once more into the gaping maw of the iron gate that read 'Collinwood'. "I'm home."  
  
The good doctor had called for a couple of orderlies to carry the boxes of Adam's possessions to an adjoining conference room. Barnabas and Quentin wasted no time in emptying the contents onto the massive mahogany table. There were literally hundreds of letters... all from Julia! Barnabas could not believe it! Julia had maintained contact with Adam for years... and her delusion of being Adam's 'mother' was obviously shared by the creature himself.  
Quentin could tell that Barnabas was getting angry... and he knew why. He was angry with Julia for keeping such a secret from him for so long. He was angry with Adam for continuing the relationship solely because he knew how much it would anger Barnabas. Most of all, though, he was angry with himself... angry for allowing himself to be so closed-minded on the subject of Adam that his own wife felt that she had to hide the matter from him entirely.  
After sorting the letters by date, Quentin and Barnabas began reading through them. Julia had written to Adam of all the adventures that she and Barnabas had engaged in over the years. She told him of Barnabas' resurrection after almost two centuries of being chained in the coffin. She told him of the kidnapping of Maggie Evans... and how investigating that case had brought her to Collinwood for the first time. She told of how Barnabas had first become a vampire all those years ago... cursed by his wife, Angelique; only to be later cured by the same woman... a scant forty- five years later. Finally, Quentin found the letters that answered so many of their questions...  
"Here it is!" Quentin scanned down the document, looking for the words he knew would be there. "She begins here telling him about your trip to the past... to 1897... to investigate the death of... me... and to seek the answers to why a werewolf was stalking Collinwood in the present."  
Barnabas remembered the time well. The Great House had been all but evacuated because of the haunting of Quentin's ghost. Originally, Quentin had died in 1897, shortly after Magda had cursed him and all his male descendents with the curse of the werewolf. At the same time in the present, a werewolf was, indeed, stalking Collinwood. The young man's name had been Chris Jennings. He was a friend of Carolyn's, and – unbeknownst to any of the denizens of Collinwood – the great-grandson of Quentin. Barnabas' trip to the past had not been successful in avoiding the werewolf curse; but once the consequences of her rage were explained to Magda, she had sought to remove the curse by the only means she knew of: the mysterious 'Hand of Count Petofi'.  
"She goes on, Barnabas, to explain all about our struggle against Petofi," Quentin looked at his companion, who was even now attempting to put the pieces of the puzzle together. "What does this mean? Do you think that Adam has somehow conjured up the spirit of Petofi? That he's possessed?"  
"I'm not sure," Barnabas knew that something was missing, "You heard the doctor as the gentlemen were bringing Adam's things here into the conference room... he killed an orderly before leaving. Why? Why would he do such a thing? If he were truly possessed by Petofi, he could have conjured up some spell... causing everyone to just let him go and forget the whole ordeal. No... if Petofi – in flesh or spirit – were at all behind this, he would not have been so careless as to leave a corpse behind." He stood and began circling the room. Barnabas did his best thinking while pacing. Many was the night he and Julia paced the Drawing Room of the Old House, attempting to piece together one of the many mysteries they faced together. "The way he has disfigured his hand... it's almost like he wants us to think that he's Petofi... he even made sure that he introduced himself to Carolyn that way before knocking her out..."  
"I don't' get it, Cousin... what are we missing?"  
"I think I can help you with that," Dr. Beverly Tate said from behind them. Neither of the men was sure how long she might have been listening in. They hoped not long, they had said enough to warrant many questions... questions that neither of them were prepared to answer.  
"Doctor, if you know something, please..." Barnabas was beginning to feel desperate.  
"Well, I just overheard that you said that he might be wanting you to think that he was someone else..."  
"Yes, and?..." Barnabas looked at Quentin and the two shared a look of relief that the girl had obviously not heard everything that had been said.  
"Well, there's something about Adam that I should have explained to you from the beginning... the reason that your Dr. Collins originally brought him here... something that I guess I assumed you already knew..."  
"Something serious?" Quentin wasn't sure he like the sound of the young beauty's voice.  
"Yes... very serious."  
  
Where am I? Charles Collins looked all around him and all he could see was pitch-blackness. He reached out, but could feel nothing there. He tried to adjust his eyes, but the darkness did not change. Hello?! He screamed the word in his mind... but his voice would not utter a sound.  
Am I dreaming?  
"Yes... and no." A lilting voice came to him from the darkness. Charles knew that he had not spoken... but the woman in the darkness answered him nonetheless.  
Again, he tried to speak, but found no voice. He spoke in his mind once more, hoping that whoever had answered him before would do so again. Where am I?  
"You are asleep... in your room... at Collinwood."  
Then I am dreaming.  
"As I said... yes... and no."  
Please don't talk to me in riddles. Who are you... and what do you want with me?  
"Don't you recognize my voice? I am your mother."  
Mother?! Charles nearly wept as he spoke the word over and over in his mind. Immediately images of his vision of the other day came to his mind... of his beautiful young mother hanging in the Drawing Room of Collinwood, dangling lifelessly over a pool of her own blood.  
"Do not dwell on those images." Her voice was soothing and very reassuring.  
Is this real?  
Just then, his mother came to him out of the darkness. Unlike the way she looked in the East Wing room the other day, here she looked young... the way she looked when she had died all those years ago. She wore a long summer dress, and her long, blonde hair seemed to float on a cushion of air. Catherine Collins was surrounded by an almost foggy glare of light. She approached him, reached as if attempting to touch him... and then rested her arms on the same cushion of air that her hair – and in fact her entire body – appeared to be floating. It was clear to Charles that she desperately wanted to touch him, but was halted by some unseen force.  
"You are asleep, my son... and in this dream state, the human body is closer to the realm of death than at any other time. The barrier between you and I is at its narrowest... and I am allowed to appear to you and speak to you."  
Why have you never done this before?  
"You have never been this deep into sleep before. When a person dreams, it is actually contact with the dead that he is experiencing; but one rarely reaches a deep enough level of sleep to make this degree of contact... so the dead are forced to use images from the person's mind to express messages and feelings to them. Do you understand?"  
I think so... but why, then, am I this asleep now?  
"Because someone is keeping you sedated... someone who pretends to be your father."  
Father?  
"No... not your father. A malevolent pretender... a man who is in a time that is not his own."  
Then where is father?  
"Trapped... he is trapped in a dimension of time parallel to your own."  
The East Wing?  
Catherine's lovely features nodded, smiling at her son's deductive abilities... but gravely concerned for what he was thinking.  
I should go after him.  
"You cannot."  
But why?  
"Because this imposter means to keep you sedated while he carries out his nefarious plans."  
Can you help me?  
Catherine shifted her gaze, "No..."  
You are lying to me mother.  
"Yes... I will not help you."  
Why?  
"Because this man also means to destroy Barnabas and Quentin... Quentin." On repeating the last name, Catherine Collins' facial expression contorted into a dreadful mixture of despair and bitterness.  
Why do you wish harm to Barnabas and Quentin?  
"They put me here!" She was truly distraught, an almost crazed look in her eyes, "Quentin allowed me to die before, and Barnabas allowed it the second time!"  
Second time? Charles began remembering his vision of the other day... Barnabas as a vampire... and the skeletal creature in the old clothes that Quentin had been wearing in the portrait. What did the images mean, Mother?  
Catherine's expression changed once more to one Charles recognized. "Look inside yourself, my son. The answers are all there."  
Mother, help me to wake up...I must figure out a way to help... I know that you are wrong about Barnabas and Quentin... I'm sure they didn't...  
"I must go now..." and with a blank stare on her face, Catherine Collins turned to return to the shadows of her son's mind. "Remember what you know... remember what you know... remember what you know..."  
Mother! Come back! There's more I need to know!  
  
Charles sat upright in his bed. His mind was groggy, and he was having a difficult time focusing on his surroundings... but he was awake. He wiped his brow... he was sweating like crazy. He looked nervously around the room for any sign of his mother... of anyone. As things began to focus, his memories slowly began to come back to him.  
Remember what you know...  
"Father!"  
  
It had only taken picking up the morning's newspaper to answer a lot of the questions that Daniel Collins had about his counterpart in this mixed-up universe. Right there on the society page was a picture of him – or, rather, 'David' – with his father... Roger Collins. Below was an obituary of Aunt Elizabeth, whom Daniel had known to have died decades ago in his own time. It was almost as if this were some kind of parallel dimension or something. Daniel had certainly seen enough television and movies to have at least a laymen's understanding of the theory of parallel time... but, like most people, he'd never given it much thought as a viable idea.  
The obituary had listed David and Roger Collins as President and CEO of Collins Enterprises of Bangor. Apparently, that was where this universe's 'Roger' now was. Somehow, he had to get to Bangor... to see what he could learn about the Collins wealth. He didn't care much about figuring out a way to get to his own time... nothing waiting there but embezzlement charges, a nutty wife, a dilapidated old house, and a decrepit old father and stepmother, neither of which he could stand. At least here he had money... and apparently plenty of it. Plus, here he still had Charles to torture; Daniel smiled as he looked up at the ceiling, imagining his idiotic offspring lying unconscious in his room.  
The only problem that remained was how to get to the office. Of course he could find Bangor, that was no problem... but in his time, there was no company office building anymore. He was just about to give up on any plans of reaching the office today when he found Will – or, rather, Willie – out front washing a Rolls Royce.  
"Willie!" Daniel called with all the kindness and joviality his dark soul could muster without making him absolutely nauseous.  
"Hey, kid... what's up?"  
"Not much. I was wondering if I could bother you to take me into Bangor."  
Willie slowed his buffing, as his expression got more serious, "You wanna go to Bangor today?"  
"Well, yes, if it's not too much trouble," Just do it you ninny!  
"It's just that Barnabas gave me the day off... asked me to stay close to the house while he was away. You know, in case that creep that swiped Carolyn should come back. And, besides, I wouldn't think you'd wanna leave your kid while he's sick."  
"Charles will be fine... he should be waking up any time now. And I really do need to get to the office. Can't let Dad run things by himself now, can I?"  
"Guess not," Dad?  
"And, forgive me for being so blunt, Willie, but I think that Mr. Stone in there will be more than adequate protection for the ladies and the children. Don't you? I mean, you aren't exactly in your prime anymore."  
"No," it was obvious that Willie had not appreciated the last comment, which made Daniel nearly giddy with glee, "I guess not."  
"Then you'll drive me into the city? You don't have to wait for me, I'll get a cab from there."  
"Sure," Willie's uneasy smile returned to his wrinkled features, "why not?"  
"Great!" Daniel let himself in the rear door of the Rolls, "Besides, you'll only be gone two hours max. What could go wrong? It's the middle of the day for Christ's sake!"  
"Yeah," Willie said as he got behind the wheel and started the engine, "What could go wrong?"  
  
Dissociative Identity Disorder – more commonly referred to as 'multiple personality disorder' – has been an increasingly documented phenomenon in American psychotherapy since its first diagnosed case in Germany more than two centuries ago. For the better part of the last hour, Dr. Beverly Tate had been giving a crash course in the disorder to the two elder Collinses sitting in her office. A mental disorder that has its roots in childhood trauma, DID has seen a drastic rise in American diagnosis over the last few decades, many believe due to the massive media attention it receives. Some psychologists – such as Dr. Tate – do still treat it as a very serious affliction.  
"And you believe Adam to be afflicted with this disorder?" Barnabas Collins had listened intently to the doctor's explanation of the disease.  
"He does meet all the diagnostic criteria, at least as far as we can tell by what little we know of his past." Beverly had taken off her glasses and now held them by her teeth as she looked over the charts of Adam Collins.  
"And what 'criteria' are those... if you don't mind," Quentin found the entire case fascinating. Could Adam be possessed by Petofi, and science merely chalked it up to multiple personality disorder?  
"Well, first, there is the presence of at least two distinct personalities, each taking control of the physical body of the host at separate times. Then there's the inability to recall key events that transpire when another alter is in possession..."  
"Alter?" Barnabas asked.  
"Yes, an 'alter' is the name that we give to the other personalities. Adam's own personality is what we call the 'host'."  
"How many alters have you established, Doctor," Quentin asked the next logical question as he could see that all of this was beginning to overwhelm Barnabas; who was no doubt coming to the same conclusions as he was... that Adam was not suffering from this affliction, but, rather, that he was possessed by the ghost of Petofi.  
"Well, aside from his host personality, we've only diagnosed two others."  
"Two? Who are they?"  
"That is where it gets truly interesting, Mr. Collins," the good doctor's concern for the impact of what she was saying was increasingly giving way to her fascination with the case. "One of them is a strong, violent, older man who calls himself Count Petofi..."  
Both men turned white as sheets. She believed that Petofi was merely a persona created by Adam's mind.  
"Why would he create such a character?" Barnabas was curious as to the reason for the doctor's beliefs.  
"Well, Adam is a very kind and docile person," she smiled gently as she spoke of Adam, "he wouldn't hurt a fly. But it is clear that in his childhood, he was hurt a great deal." With that final statement, she looked directly at Barnabas.  
"Your look is almost accusatory, Doctor," Barnabas was beginning to feel uneasy about the attractive young psychologist.  
"It's no secret, Mr. Collins, that DID most often occurs as the result of some childhood trauma, usually some kind of abuse. This Julia Collins that claims to be his mother was your wife, yes?"  
"Yes."  
"Then you must forgive me if I come to the conclusion that you have had some experience with Adam in his youth that could give me some idea as to what kind of trauma that poor boy experienced to cause his inner hurt and fear to manifest itself in the guise of this 'Petofi'."  
Childhood trauma. Barnabas didn't know whether to chuckle or scream. This young lady assumed that Adam was close to her own age... when he was truly closer to Willie's. How could he even begin to explain the trauma that that boy has encountered? He was not borne of woman, but created in a lab. When he first reached consciousness he could not even communicate. He was a mindless animal. Of course, Barnabas had chained him in a room in the basement of the Old House. He was fed by Willie – who hated and taunted him continuously. When he finally escaped, he had joined forces with the evil warlock, Nicholas Blair, who eventually forced Barnabas and Julia to create a mate for Adam... Eve. However, the second experiment did not come out like the first. For the life essence that the body required, Blair had conjured up the centuries-old spirit of an evil, murderous woman. Her reincarnated form hated Adam and spurned him from the beginning. No wonder Adam had gone insane.  
"Mr. Collins?"  
"Hmm? Oh, I am sorry, Doctor..."  
"I was asking what you could tell me of Adam's youth."  
"I'm sure I could tell you nothing that Adam, himself, has not already told you. How long have you been treating him?"  
"Unfortunately," Beverly looked over the first pages of her file on Adam, "there was a fire eight years ago that destroyed all records of exactly how long Adam has been here. I've been treating him for the last three years, with some success."  
"Success?" Quentin asked, "Forgive me, Doctor, but I don't see much 'success'."  
"The ideal treatment for DID patients, Mr. Collins, is to fuse all of the alters into the host personality. After all, they are merely manifestations of other facets of his personality that for some reason or other he does not feel free to express for himself. When I first started working with Adam, the others would come out at differing intervals, usually to protect Adam if our discussion became too personal. When one of the others was in control, Adam had no conscious knowledge of their words or actions. Over time, however, he slowly became aware of the Petofi personality. At times, the two would even argue for control, then – if Adam won – he would forget again all about any discussion with the Petofi persona. I believe that, over time, this continued acknowledgement of the other alter would have eventually led to a fusion of the two... and then we could have worked on the other one."  
"The other one?"  
"Yes," Dr. Tate examined her notes to be as precise as possible, "Adam possesses two personas that we know of at present. The first, Petofi, is the dominant, protective force, believing that the best course for Adam is to give him total and complete control to take care of him..."  
"This, then, is the persona that you believe killed the orderly?" Quentin was beginning to see where the doctor was coming from. If this strong, protective, violent persona had always been lying in wait underneath the surface, perhaps Julia's letters telling of her adventures in the past gave Adam the source material he needed to create this 'Petofi' identity. His bitterness and fear would have been directed at Barnabas, and the letters established Petofi as the one man who had nearly defeated Barnabas in the past. Although Quentin still couldn't rule out the possibility that Adam wasn't actually possessed by Petofi, this was at the very least an alternative.  
"Yes, of course, as I said, Adam would not hurt a fly."  
"But, Doctor, you said that your hope was to fuse the other personalities with Adam's own," Barnabas said, "wouldn't he, then, incorporate the 'violence' of the Petofi persona into his own?"  
"Well, that's a possibility, of course, but part of his therapy would naturally consist of learning to control his impulsions and emotions."  
Quentin looked at Barnabas, "If he hasn't fused with Petofi, why would Petofi single out Carolyn?"  
"It could be that Carolyn just happened to be the first person he came across..."  
"Did you say 'Carolyn'?" Beverly asked nervously.  
"Yes," Barnabas could see the recognition in her eyes, "why?"  
Beverly Tate walked over to her filing cabinet and opened the top drawer, "When he escaped, he left his room in a horrible mess. He had fried the orderly's face on a hot plate – we're still trying to figure out why and how he got it – and he dismembered and disemboweled the remainder of the body. He placed the arms and legs in the restraints on the bed, and scribbled unintelligible words with the blood all over the walls. On his mirror, he wrote the word 'Carolyn' next to this..." She handed a folded piece of paper to Barnabas.  
"What is it, Cous?" Quentin asked nervously.  
"It's Carolyn's wedding announcement... from when she and Mr. Reyes married, but that was many years ago..."  
"It had always been taped to his mirror, but he never wished to talk about it. It didn't seem to affect him in any negative way, so I allowed him to keep it... I guess I assumed it was a sister or something."  
"No, Doctor, she was a woman that he loved very deeply a long, long time ago." Barnabas looked at Quentin. He didn't need to speak his thoughts aloud. If the doctor was right, and Petofi was merely a name that Adam has given to this alternate personality... then it appears the two have joined.  
"We should get back to Collinwood." Quentin got up and began putting on his coat. Barnabas did the same.  
"Thank you very much for all your help, Doctor," Barnabas was eager to return to Collinwood. If Adam was walking around as some combination of himself and Petofi, he would be more than Stone and Willie could handle.  
"You know where he is, don't you?" Beverly put her glasses back on, "Mr. Collins, please do not try to subdue him yourself. If you have information as to his whereabouts, please tell me so that I can help your son."  
"He is not my son!" Barnabas nearly spat the words at her.  
"If we find him, Doc, I promise you'll be the first person we call." Quentin opened the door for Barnabas.  
Before he left the office, Barnabas Collins stopped for a moment, then he turned to Dr. Beverly Tate. "Doctor... you said that there were two alternate personalities. What is the name of the other one?" Barnabas wasn't at all sure he wanted to know.  
"The other one was the real enigma. At first, we couldn't tell who she was or why she was there. The few times that she emerged was when Adam and Petofi had argued and fought themselves into a stupor. Then she would come forward, begging us to help Adam. She insisted that she was there to 'protect' Adam, but Petofi informed us that the girl was his prisoner..."  
"Girl? The third personality is a girl?" Quentin found that to be both fascinating and confusing.  
"Yes, a little ten-year-old-girl." Beverly noticed all color leaving Barnabas Collins' face.  
"What was her name?" Barnabas whispered the words, unable to completely find his voice.  
"Unlike Petofi, she shared a name with Adam... she called herself 'Sarah'... 'Sarah Collins'."  
  
CHAPTER 10  
  
"Excuse me," Maggie Evans said as she cleared her throat on entering the kitchen. She had walked in on an innocent yet passionate kiss between her young charge and Collinwood's newest charmer.  
Magdalena quickly moved away, turning quickly and looking for a plate... a towel... anything that she could find to make herself appear to have been busy at work. Stone reached behind him and picked up a cup from the dish strainer, handing it to his beautiful companion...  
"I think I got that dirt from your eye... you should feel better now..." He wasn't nervous, but, rather very chivalrous and eager to protect the image of his lady's virtue.  
"Um... thank you... Mr. Vial... and thank you for helping with the dishes..."  
  
"Only too happy to oblige, m'lady."  
"Do the two of you honestly think that I am that old?" Maggie smiled at the two of them. It had been too long since this house had known romantic love, and she was only too happy to see these two handsome young people so obviously infatuated, yet completely respectful of one another.  
Stone fought back a smile, "I don't know what you mean, Ms. Evans."  
"Alright," Maggie decided to ease Magdalena's uncomfortableness by returning to the reason that she had come looking for Collinwood's charge d'affairs. "I was wondering if either of you had seen Willie this morning?"  
"Yes, ma'am," Magdalena regained her composure, "Mr. Barnabas gave him the day off but asked him to remain close to the house."  
"Well, he isn't anywhere to be found... and the Rolls is gone as well."  
"Hmmph," Stone thought for a moment, "Maybe he ran into Collinsport for something."  
"I doubt Willie would leave the house if Barnabas asked him not to." It was clear that the behavior was uncharacteristic of Collinwood's caretaker, "What about David? Have either of you seen David?"  
Both young people shook their heads.  
"Oh, well," Maggie attempted to keep her nervousness from showing, but with the events of the last few days, she was understandably uneasy about anything out of the ordinary, "maybe they'll show up."  
A strange sense suddenly overcame Stone. He looked around the kitchen, over Maggie's shoulder into the dining room, and finally outside the window into the yard. He sniffed the air, smelling something that he knew his 'normal' cohorts could not... danger. "All the same, Maggie, I think we should take some precautions until they pop up."  
"Like what?"  
"Do me a favor," he thought for a moment, trying to make sure he was remembering everything Barnabas and Quentin had told him before leaving this morning. "Gather Carolyn and the children... and try to wake up Charles if he's around. Meet me and Magdalena at the... at the... damn it... there was a place that Barnabas said I should round everyone up to if something started to go down."  
"The Tower Room?" Maggie seemed almost disgusted at the mention of the place, "Whatever for?"  
"That's it. Just meet me there with everyone, please," he looked from Maggie to Magdalena, "you have to trust me."  
Magdalena looked deep into her new friend's eyes... and could see that not only could she trust him implicitly, but also that she could never be safer than in his care. She nodded to him and took Maggie by the arm, "Come, Ms. Maggie, I will help you." The two then rushed to the front to gather the others still upstairs.  
Stone looked around once more. He could feel a growing, thickening darkness on his very skin. Something was up... and whoever was behind it had already gotten rid of Willie and David. That left him to defend three women, two children, and one sick young man all by his little lonesome.  
He opened the back door and stepped out onto the yard. The sky was beginning to blacken with storm clouds. Vial Stone sniffed the air around Collinwood. He could smell the impending rain... and he could smell his impending opponent.  
"Come on, you gruesome sonuvabitch," he whispered into the air. He clenched his fists, and beneath the surface of his skin, he could feel the boiling blood of an animal ready for battle. It was daylight, and the full moon was days behind him... but the beast within was still with him... ready to do its part to protect its host. Adrenalin began to course through his blood and muscles, and the flame that a month from now would once more conquer his mind... filled his heart. "Let's dance."  
  
Charles walked groggily through the corridors of Collinwood. Those pills that the doctor had given him were sure taking their time to wear off. He kept both hands on the walls and inched his way toward the East Wing. Somehow he knew he would find his father there. Why had he told his father about seeing his mother in that room?! The pain on David Collins' face had been evident. He must have loved Catherine Collins deeply to still mourn for her after nearly twenty years. And his mother must have loved his father just as deeply. Charles knew that it had been his mother that woke him from his drug-induced sleep... and the first person that came to his mind had been his father... surely another sign from his late mother.  
Even his half-asleep senses could tell when he reached the East Wing. The darkness of the corridors and rooms, the stench of the dank mildew stemming from decades of neglect, the whistle of the winds from Widows' Hill as it came through the broken windows. It was like walking through death itself.  
Finally he reached the room that he had come across – how many days ago had it been now? – and where he had seen his mother... alive and well. Charles mustered all the strength he could manage and pushed the doors open...  
Nothing.  
The room was exactly as it had been when the servant girl had found him here. He walked in and looked around. Charles could remember how it had looked when he first saw it: the lighted windows; the bright yellows and whites of the wallpaper, draperies, and linen; the massive four-post bed. All that was gone now. Had it been a dream? He'd seen a lot of crazy things since he'd been here at Collinwood this week.  
Starting with the doll that he'd found. He'd gotten an influx of visual imagery from that: the musket, the little girl, the bat. Then there'd been the dream: the portrait of Quentin in very old clothes suddenly turning into a live, skeletal creature; Barnabas as a young vampire; his mother hanging over a pool of her own blood. Finally, there'd been the room: with his mother... and a darker image of his father. It had all been so much that Charles had thought himself going completely mad... and perhaps he was.  
No! He knew what he had seen! His mother had been in this room... alive and well. Charles was about to begin the trek back to his room before he completely collapsed here in this dingy room, when suddenly he knew that he would not make it. A dizziness overwhelmed him and he fell to his knees on the floor, clasping his hands over his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the vertigo. His head started pounding, and Charles Collins was beginning to doubt his ability to maintain consciousness. Then, he was convinced that he had already succumbed to sleep...  
"Charles?"  
Charles Collins looked up and saw... his father! He was just about to ask his father what he was doing here when his voice utterly escaped him. The room that he had originally seen here – drapes, light, and all – was right here. He was standing in the middle of the room from his vision with his father. His father and...  
"Mother?" Charles fell to his knees, still not in complete control of his own equilibrium, being caught at the last minute by his parents. His parents! They were both here... alive and well.  
"Oh, Charles!" Catherine Collins balled, "Oh my God, I thought I had lost you forever!" She clutched him around the neck, kissing his face all over and refusing to let go; but even if she'd wanted to, Charles would not have allowed her to. This touch was something he had kept in his most cherished memories... and he wasn't about to let it go any time soon. His father's voice brought him out of his otherworldly joy.  
"I think the three of us need to talk," and with that, David Collins closed the door to the room and motioned for his family to take a seat on the bed.  
  
In Bangor, it hadn't taken Daniel Collins long to get the information he wanted. The lovely young lady outside his office had gotten the latest company reports for him without any fuss; and from there it had only taken minutes to discover what he wanted to know: this 'David Collins' was worth upwards of $20 million in his own right, and that wasn't even taking into account the worth of his father, Roger's, estate. That would bring his personal wealth up to over $100 million! Wow! Daniel wondered how much time the old man had left!  
He'd asked the secretary – Jamie... Janie... Jessie... ah, who cares! – the whereabouts of his father.  
"He said he was going home for the evening," the lovely little piece said, her gorgeous face hidden behind conservative glasses.  
"Home?" Daniel asked, "To Collinwood?"  
"No," the girl was obviously taken aback by his lack of knowledge, "the Bangor house. Would you like me to get you a driver, Mr. Collins?"  
"Um... yes... yes, thank you..."  
"Jaycee, Mr. Collins," now she was truly suspicious, "Are you alright, sir?"  
"Yes, Jaycee, of course," it was time for him to make his exit from here, "Just have the driver meet me downstairs please." He would pay daddy- dearest a visit... and see just what kind of shape the old timer was in... and maybe worsen it.  
  
The Tower Room of Collinwood was the highest point of the estate. From its window, one could clearly see Widows' Hill, the ruins of the Old House, and even the main road. It sat atop the turret that made up the center of the massive, x-shaped estate, and its history was long and dubious. Over the years, it had acted more like a prison than a room. It was said that crazy Jenny Collins had given birth in this room more than a century ago. Edward Collins – David and Carolyn's great-grandfather – had even been locked up in here for a time when it was believed that he'd gone insane, believing himself to be a servant of the Collins family rather than a member of it. Now, however, in the twenty-first century... it would become a fort. Maggie, with Magdalena's help, had gathered all of the current denizens of the house and collected them there as per Stone's instructions. The children hadn't been crazy about the idea, but when Carolyn had seen the urgency in Maggie's face, she'd insisted and told them to carry the small television and their playstation to the Tower Room. There was still no sign of either David or Willie, and now even Charles was missing. Carolyn had suggested that maybe Charles had taken a turn for the worse, and David and Willie had taken him into town to the hospital. As ugly as it sounded, Maggie hoped it was something that simple.  
Stone met the women there. After explaining to him that the men were unaccounted for, he rushed everyone into the room, following them. He'd tried to get through to Barnabas and Quentin by cell phone, only to discover that Barnabas had forgotten his phone on the dining room table.  
"Does anyone know Quentin's number?" No one did.  
"Mr. Stone, what's going on?" Carolyn Reyes tried to not sound too worried so as to not alarm the children. She'd explained moving to the Tower as a necessary precaution with the impending storm.  
"I'm not sure, ma'am," and that was certainly the truth, "but something is. I can't explain it right now... I just feel it."  
"Believe it or not, Mr. Stone," Carolyn looked at Maggie and then back to Stone, "that's good enough for me."  
Magdalena looked at Stone and felt... secure. As if nothing could harm her with him around. She didn't really understand these feelings, but it appeared that she was truly smitten with him. Scolding herself, she shook her head and brought herself to focus on the situation. If Stone was right, then the man that had taken Carolyn a few days ago had returned to the estate... and all the men save Stone were gone.  
Vial Stone looked out the window, taking in the grand view of the estate. He was out there... somewhere. He sniffed the air, but the storm was so close that the only scent he could make out clearly was that of the rain.  
"Do you expect to smell him?" Carolyn asked. Stone turned around and the women were standing together looking at him. Carolyn had her arms crossed, and her look of confidence from a few moments ago was faltering.  
Stone smiled at her with his most disarming grin, "You could say I have a 'nose' for trouble." That put the women once more at ease. Vial, however, was not at ease. He looked out on the estate and prayed for some sign... something that would tell him where his opponent would be coming from.  
Finally, he saw it! Just beyond the rise of trees, there was a clearing, and in that clearing was the waving beam of a flashlight.  
"There!" He pointed and motioned for Carolyn to join him at the window, "What's over there?"  
Carolyn saw the beam dancing in the growing darkness of the storm. The sight of it sent shivers up her spine. She prayed that it was Willie, or David out there; but her instincts told her that it wasn't. "That's the Old House... or what's left of it anyway," she turned and looked at Stone, "Do you think that's him?"  
The lone protector of Collinwood put a hand on Carolyn's shoulder. "Yes, I do. But you don't need to worry. You have to trust me. Alright?" Carolyn nodded her head. "Good. Now, do you know how to use one of these?" He produced a revolver.  
Carolyn's heart leapt to her throat, "Oh, no, I couldn't..."  
"Carolyn, look at me," Stone grabbed Carolyn by her shoulder and forced her to look into his eyes. "I'm going out there. I'm going to lock you and the others here in the tower, and I'll slide the key back to you under the door. You don't let anyone in until I give you the 'all clear'. Alright?"  
Carolyn looked from Stone to Maggie, and finally to her children. Her fear suddenly gave way to an overwhelming maternal instinct to protect her young. "Alright."  
Stone started for the door when Magdalena cut him off. "I am going with you."  
He smiled at her. "No you're not."  
"You cannot face this madman alone. You do not know what he is capable of."  
"And you think you can protect me?" Stone's sarcasm faded quickly when he saw the dead-set determination of his new partner's stare. "Alright... come on." He grabbed her hand and they headed out the door. Vial Stone locked the door and slid the key underneath. Once he was assured by Carolyn that she had it, he looked deeply into Magdalena's eyes. "You be careful... and stay behind me."  
"Yes sir." Magdalena was beginning to get the hang of this 'sarcasm'.  
"I'm serious!" He stared deeply into her large, beautiful brown eyes, "I can take pretty good care of myself, you know."  
"You had better, Mr. Stone," her tone was not as serious as her heart was, "If you get hurt or killed, I'll..."  
Vial Stone cupped her face in his hand and kissed her gently on the lips. What had been intended as a quick peck on the lips quickly evolved into a deep, passionate kiss, neither one wanting to let go of the other.  
The voice from the other side of the door broke into their romantic embrace, "Have the two of you locked us in her for our protection... or for your privacy?" It was clear that Carolyn wanted the young lovers to concentrate on the seriousness of the here and now.  
"Right," Stone gave a reassuring wink to Magdalena, grabbed her hand and said, "Let's go."  
  
Barnabas hadn't spoken a word since leaving Windcliffe. Quentin, himself, was still trying to take in all that Dr. Beverly Tate had said to them. Was it true that Adam was merely suffering from some kind of multiple personality disorder? Or was he actually possessed by the dreaded Count... and Sarah too. That last bit had been the biggest surprise of all.  
Little Sarah had died over two hundred years ago. Another victim of Angelique's curse on Barnabas that he would live to see all he loved die. She had already been ill due to several light spells placed on her by the beautiful witch. Her condition had worsened when Barnabas had died. When he resurrected as a vampire, he had gone to the Great House to watch his baby sister through her window... but she saw him as well. Believing her brother to be alive, Sarah ran out into the frigid night looking for him... and caught pneumonia. She died only days later.  
If Adam was truly some kind of schizo, it was entirely possible that his more innocent nature might manifest itself as little Sarah. Lord knows Julia had told him enough about all of the Collinses that he would have had an ample enough knowledge to attribute 'Sarah' as an identity. Then, there was also still the possibility that Adam was possessed... and the chilling revelation by 'Petofi' that 'Sarah' was, in fact, his prisoner. How could that be? Could a spirit be 'imprisoned' in a body by another spirit? It was all so much to take in.  
Quentin looked at Barnabas, who was still trying to raise the house on Quentin's cell phone.  
"Nothing?" Quentin wasn't sure he wanted the answer to that.  
"No." Barnabas knew what that had to mean. He had specifically asked both Willie and young Vial to stay near the house to watch over the women and children. If no one was answering the phone... then no one was home. Barnabas scolded himself for coming to Windcliffe. Even though they had learned a great deal and all but proved that their adversary was, indeed, Adam, they should not have left the family unguarded...  
"I know what you're thinking, Cous," Quentin knew Barnabas Collins better than anyone in the world, "and there would have been absolutely nothing that either of us could've done that Vial and Willie wouldn't have tried." In fact, Quentin was possibly even more terrified than Barnabas... his son was now among the missing. His son. A week ago, that was an alien concept. Now, the young man was the most important person in Quentin's life. He was a son that any man would be proud to call his own. Although suffering from an affliction that had no cure, and that was the result of his own father's past sins, the boy eagerly jumped when the rest of the family needed assistance. Never complaining, never shirking a responsibility that most would argue was not his to begin with, Vial Stone was the most noble man that Quentin Collins had ever met with the only exception being the man that now sat with him in this very car.  
"Perhaps," nothing was going to make Barnabas feel any better, "but whether the being we're after is Adam or Petofi, if I had been at Collinwood, I could have given myself up to protect the family. No matter who he is... I'm the one he's after."  
"Well, excuse me, Mr. Collins," Quentin wasn't sure whether to be amused or insulted by Barnabas' feeling of self-importance, "but I think that Petofi would be just as interested in taking out revenge on me... and he may still... if Stone is really missing."  
Barnabas looked at his old friend. The two had laid their lives on the line so many times to protect the family over the centuries. Was it all for naught? "He's alright, Quentin... if anyone is... he is."  
Quentin put more pressure on the old gas pedal of the '58 Chevy that was his pride and joy. Collinwood's oldest defenders raced to save whatever might be left of the family that they had sworn to protect so many years ago.  
  
The Collins Bangor mansion wasn't quite as impressive as Collinwood, but, then again, it wasn't meant to be. Roger had bought the house more than twenty years ago, when David had decided to leave Collinwood with Charles. Roger and David had never been close when David had been a young boy... but their relationship had grown stronger during David's teenage years. Even though Roger hadn't approved of Catherine, he had supported David in what was obviously the love of his life. When she killed herself, David had cut himself off from everyone... Roger... Charles... everyone.  
The three men had lived here in the massive forty-room house since then. Running Collins Enterprises and building it into one of the most powerful privately owned companies in all of New England. In the early nineties, the company had gone public... and opened the door for possible raiders. They had been alright for quite awhile... until this Andrew Petrof... or whoever he was. Now, Roger sat tied to a chair in his own bedroom... a shotgun jury-rigged to the bedroom door... and aimed at his head.  
Roger was sweating like crazy. His mouth bound so as not to warn anyone who approached the door, the only sound he could hear was the heartbeat in his ears... growing stronger. Whoever opened that door was going to kill him. Maybe David... maybe Barnabas... maybe Charles. No matter who came home first... there was no hope for Roger Collins.  
He wasn't so much worried about dying. He'd lived a full life... taken his massive family fortune and more than quadrupled it. However, here at the end, he could see that none of that mattered. When was the last time he'd told David how much he loved him or how proud he was of him? Dear Lord! Had he ever told him? And what of poor Charles? Roger didn't even know if the boy was alright! All he could think of was getting back to business. Had he learned nothing from Elizabeth?  
Elizabeth! His sister had only been dead for a little over a week... and now he was about to join her. She, too, had died without making her final peace with her child. It seemed to be a Collins family curse... one of many curses. Of course, Barnabas would see to it that the children were well taken care of... but could anything he did ever replace the words "I love you" from a father to a son?  
Roger Collins began to weep.  
He would gladly have triggered the shotgun himself to deny Petrof his victory... and to relieve his family of the weight of having done it. Petrof had thought of that, however. The chair was nailed to the floor... and Roger was tightly bound to it. The shotgun was only inches from his head... and the mechanism that would ultimately trigger it was set up to the door... with no connection whatsoever to Roger himself or to the chair.  
His heart pounded harder and harder... his sweat was cold as it ran down his face. Was he having a heart attack? Would it matter? Whoever opened the door would still think that it was their action that killed him. Roger's weeping spilled into outright crying.  
Just then, he heard it.  
"Father?" It was David!  
No, son, go away! Roger yelled the words in his mind, but all he could muster was the strained moaning of a gagged prisoner.  
"Hey! Old man!" Was David... laughing?  
Roger could hear the footsteps coming up the main stairway... and he heard the first few doors being opened... coming closer to his door. His heart felt like it was going to explode in his head. The stabbing pain ran down his left arm. This was it! He was going to die right here... right now. He could feel his head growing redder and redder as his blood pressure mounted to fatal levels. The pounding in his ear was throbbing his head. Everything was growing foggy as he heard the footsteps approach the door.  
The blackness overwhelmed him.  
A shotgun fired.  
A body fell to the ground.  
  
Collinwood was engulfed in a shroud of darkness. The storm that had blown in from the ocean now surrounded the Great Estate with menacing black clouds. The wind, however, was warm... and strong. There was no rain as yet, but thunder rolled in the distance, and lightning could be seen through the cracks of the clouds.  
Vial Stone, and his sidekick in this mission, Magdalena, crept toward the light that Stone had seen from the tower... toward the ruins of the Old House. Stone held Magdalena's hand, leading her while making sure that he did not lose her. He felt a bond with this girl... a bond that he'd always been very careful not to allow with other women. A bond that would be endangered with the next full moon. Why was he acting different now? Why did he feel that this girl was different? With her he felt... safe. He looked back at her to reassure himself that she was okay. She smiled at him nervously.  
"We're almost there," Stone whispered to her, moving close to her ear to be heard over the growing gale, "I can smell him."  
Magdalena looked at him askance.  
"I'll explain later," Stone went back to his crouching position, moving slowly yet steadily through the thin path to the Old House.  
Near the clearing, Stone could see what the light had been... not a flashlight, but a fire. Whoever this guy was, he had set up camp here among the ruins. He let go of the young gypsy's hand and took a position among the foliage to get a closer look at what they might be dealing with here. It reminded him of a time in Peru. He had been there looking for an ancient artifact in one of the old Mayan temples... but he wasn't the only one looking. An entire army had been hired to retrieve it... but Stone had won the day... just as he intended to here.  
He could see the fire near the center of the rubble. It was kept from spreading by a circle of old masonry that must have at one time been a part of the house. He also saw his intended adversary. He was tall... really tall; maybe six-six, six-seven. He wore a turtle necked sweater and khaki pants. He held his right hand close to him, as if it were injured... that could be useful. The man was staring into the fire... just staring... as if he were listening intently to something that the fire was telling him. That might not be a good sign. Stone thought to himself.  
Suddenly the stranger looked up at the far end of the clearing. He ran at a dash into the woods. Is someone else here? Stone wondered. He looked back to tell Magdalena to stay down... but she was nowhere to be seen. Goddamnit.  
He began whispering loudly into the darkness, "Magdalena!... Magda..."  
"I think I have what you're looking for!" a male voice shouted from the area of the clearing. Stone looked back toward the fire... and there was the man... with Magdalena by the arm. He held her with his left hand... his right hovering over chest. "Come on out, Quentin, or I will kill her!"  
Quentin? Stone wondered why the man thought he was Quentin. He looked at the threatening hand... but there was no weapon. What was he going to do? Choke her to death? Surely he knew that he could be overtaken long before she would choke to death. Not sure of exactly what to do... Stone made his way into the clearing... his hands raised over his head.  
"Okay... okay. Calm down! Don't hurt the girl!"  
"Why do you care for her?" the man seemed sincerely bewildered, "She's the one who cursed you, my boy! Why not let me kill her?"  
What? Stone knew now that this guy was truly off his rocker. He thought that Stone was Quentin... and obviously that Magdalena was someone else.  
"I still don't want her hurt..." Stone stalled for time to think, "What would that prove?"  
"Prove?" The stranger laughed, "My how the time has changed you Quentin."  
"Let the girl go... and we can talk about that."  
"No!" The larger man tightened his grip on Magdalena's arm, prompting a shriek from her. Stone jumped.  
"Alright! Alright!" Stone put his hands in front of him, to show that there was no threat to the man, "What do you want?"  
"Is Barnabas with you?" The man's tone changed... speaking the name almost with a reverence.  
"He'll be along," Stone hoped aloud. The man's expression changed to one of misunderstanding and sadness. In the dimming firelight, Stone thought he saw a tear run down the man's cheek.  
"Then we will wait." The man looked up at the growing maelstrom. "However, I do believe we should move to more comfortable environs."  
No, Stone thought, no way you're getting back in that house!  
Just then, the man moved Magdalena to his crippled arm, holding her in a sort of headlock. He kicked debris out of the way until a door was visible. He bent over and opened the massive metal door with his good hand. He reached in his back pocket and produced a flashlight, throwing it in Stone's direction.  
"Get in."  
Stone picked up the flashlight and walked slowly toward the door. Shining the light down into the pit, all he could see clearly was the stairway leading down into the belly of the earth. He looked at his adversary once more, causing the man to tighten his grip around her throat. Stone descended the staircase. The man and Magdalena followed.  
At the bottom of the staircase, Stone moved the flashlight around, seeing nothing except... a room. In the far corner of the massive underground expanse was a dungeon-like cell of a room.  
"That's right, Quentin... in there."  
"What about the girl?"  
"You do what I say... and I won't harm a hair on her head."  
Stone had little choice. The guy was too big to try to overcome... and Magdalena was straining to breathe as it was. She was forcing out the word "no"... but this was Stone's call to make. He had to give the guy the benefit of the doubt... for now. The young man walked slowly into the cell, turning finally to face his opponent.  
The man threw Magdalena into the cell as well. Stone caught her to prevent her falling, and once he got his bearings rushed to attack their intended jailer. The cell door slammed shut before he could get to it, and the man moved just out of arms reach... laughing.  
"Come on, Gruesome!" Stone's only hope now was to incite his enemy to fight, "Afraid to fight me mano-a-mano?" As he reached through the bars, hoping to express his desperation to fight, the man grabbed his hand, pulling him fiercely into the door.  
Stone couldn't move, the man's grip was like a vice.  
"I gave you what you wanted, Quentin... I gave you Magda."  
The mention of her mother's name sent shivers up Magdalena's spine. She looked once more at their assailant's crippled hand. Oh my God, she screamed in her head, Count Petofi!  
"Look, you son of a bitch! I am not Quentin Collins!"  
"Oh, come now, my boy... who do you think you are trying to fool? You look exactly as you did when I first cured you of your curse... all those many years ago."  
"My name is Vial Stone you freak! Quentin and Barnabas are probably already here... already looking for us! I left word at the house where we would be. They're coming for you."  
The man laughed. "Excellent!" Then he looked at Magdalena, her look of knowledge all over her face, "But you know who I am, don't you Magda?"  
"Yes," Magdalena played along, buying time for Stone to come up with a plan, "you're Count Petofi."  
Stone still stood in the man's grasp, "No he's not... he's just a nut- case who thinks he's Petofi." Hopefully – if Stone was right – this might be enough to anger his antagonist to open the door to punish him.  
"Oh, no, my boy," the dreaded count pulled the young man into the bars, "your friend is quite right... and I'll prove it..." He pulled Stone close, putting his crippled hand against Stone's chest...  
The force threw Stone back to the floor. No sooner had he hit, than he started to feel the growing fireball in his gut.  
No, panic flooded Stone's mind, not now... it can't be...  
The man laughed as he made his way back to the stairs. He lit torches in all four corners so that the cell as well-lit. Magdalena stood in the corner of the cell... confused and frightened, but eager to run to Stone's aid.  
"Mmm-hmm," the man nodded, "you're senses do not deceive you, Quentin, my boy... you're changing."  
"NO!" Stone screamed at his tormentor, "That's not possible!"  
"Oh, but it is... and you are. Oh, it will take a bit longer than normal, to be sure... maybe several minutes... maybe an hour. There's no moon... but you will turn... and then you will no doubt have your revenge on the young lady who did this to you..."  
The fire had already spread through his stomach, inching its way slowly up his spine, "No! You can't do this! Get the girl out of here! For the love of God, man, get her out of here!"  
"God?!" The man stormed once more at the cell, "What do you know of God? Would God have allowed you to become what you are? Or me what I am? NO! God is just another father... eager to let his Son suffer and die! Just like..." Adam Collins turned his attention back to the stairway that led to the surface, "Barnabas..." With that, the deranged man walked slowly up the stairs... and into the night.  
In the cell, Stone fought with every ounce of strength he could muster against the impending transformation. With Adam gone, Magdalena rushed to his side.  
"What can I do for you?"  
"Get out of here, Magdalena... please get out of here and lock the door again."  
"I cannot... the door is locked."  
"You don't understand..."  
"I want to help you..."  
"You can't... I'm a... I'm a..." before he could answer, his hand – that Magdalena was gently holding – started to elongate... and sprout hair. The girl took his hand, staring in horror at its transformation right before her eyes.  
"Oh, dear God," she looked at him with a combination more of fear than of pity, "you are a werewolf." With that, Magdalena rushed the cell door, shaking it with all her might... screaming for someone to help her... but the ancient door would not budge... and there was no one to hear her.  
And the physiological fire spread... slowly toward the brain of Vial Stone.  
  
CHAPTER 11  
  
The blast of the shotgun had pushed the door of Roger Collins' bedroom closed again, knocking Daniel Collins back into the hall. As soon as he had gotten his bearings, he rushed into the room to see what in the hell was going on here. Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.  
The shotgun hang from its mechanism, dangling now with the tension of the door no longer holding it upright. From what Daniel could tell from initial inspection, it appeared to have been loaded with... dimes. They lay spattered throughout the room, cutting into the linen on the bed, smashing the mirror next to it, and slicing through the shoulder of the man on the floor. Daniel walked carefully over to the prostrate form on the floor. He was bound to a chair, and he was moving spasmodically. On closer observation, the man's appearance sent a chill up Daniel's already cold spine.  
The man did appear to be an older version of the man Daniel Collins had known to be his Uncle Roger... the man who – in this timeline – was the father of the man known as David Collins... the man that everyone here believed Daniel, himself, to be. The man looked up at him just then, desperation in his features, his face a swollen, purple mass. He hadn't been struck in the face by the blast, merely cut by the flying shrapnel; and Daniel was no medical expert, but he'd swear that the old man was having a heart attack.  
"David..." Roger feebly whispered.  
"Yeah... I'm here." Daniel went to his knees to better hear the man, not really caring to do anything for him... merely wanting to learn all he could and how best to use it to his advantage.  
"It was... Petrof."  
Petrof? Daniel thought to himself. Why did the name sound familiar? Wait a minute! That name was on one of the reports that Daniel had spent the better part of the day reading. He was some kind of foreign investor out to take over the company. Suddenly, Daniel got a wonderful, terrible idea. He looked around the room until he found what he sought... the box of rolled dimes. He put as many as would fit into his pockets, then untied the shotgun from its resting place. He would go to Collinwood!  
Either one of two things would happen, in Daniel's opinion. Either this Petrof guy was already at Collinwood taking care of business, in which case Daniel would take him out and come out of this a very wealthy hero; or he would find no one but the family at the estate and take them out, blaming the entire affair on Petrof... and still being very wealthy. He smiled and started to head out the door.  
"David?..." Roger whispered askance.  
Daniel looked down at the old man lying there helpless... and laughed. Just before leaving, however, it hit him that he would need the police to already be looking for Petrof while he, himself, finished the game. Daniel took a tissue from a box and took the phone receiver off the hook, gently dialing 9-1-1.  
He looked down at the confused and dying man on the floor, "Well, old timer, with any luck, someone will be here before you croak," he smiled as he saw the growing fury in the suffering man's face, "but I wouldn't count on it... ta ta." With that, Daniel Collins made his way down to the garage... his laughter echoing through the corridors of the beautiful Bangor mansion... a mansion that by morning would likely be his.  
  
Adam made his way through the thick foliage between the ruins of the Old House and the main house of Collinwood. He was confused however, and that frightened him. How had he known the girl and young man? How had he known that touching the boy would cause him to begin transforming? Why did touching him cause him to transform? Where did this power come from? And how had he called upon it? It was as if he had been watching the events from outside his own body... as if he weren't really in control at all... as if...  
Now you're beginning to figure it out.  
NO!  
Yes, my boy, I am back.  
No! I overcame you! I incorporated you into me... just like Dr. Tate said I should. You aren't Petofi! You're just the aggressive side of me!  
You listened to that pathetic psychobabble? Adam could hear Petofi's laughter echoing through his head, I AM PETOFI! And I have come back for my revenge on Barnabas and Quentin Collins. And when I am finished, I will take over here completely! You are nothing, Adam! Nothing but a worthless pile of dead flesh... sewn together and electrocuted into activity. That was why Carolyn could not love you... why Eve could not love you... why no one has ever loved you... and never will.  
NOOOOOOO!!!!!  
Yes... you have served your purposes... but I am finished with you now. It is time for your soulless essence to return to the void from which it sprang.  
You can't! I am about to have my revenge on Barnabas!  
And let you foul everything up for me? No, my boy, I was going to allow you to watch from the sidelines as it were... but not anymore. You want control of this body... and I cannot allow that. I've invested too much time and effort into this body... and I am not about to lose it!  
I will not just go away!  
My dear, dear Adam... that is precisely what you will do.  
In less than an instant, Adam could feel himself falling... falling for what seemed like an eternity. He could not see... he could not smell... he could not hear or feel anything. He was in a void of consciousness... aware of his own existence, but powerless to do anything but be... and wait.  
Andreas Petofi looked down at his powerful body. The storm around him was beginning to intensify. The rain poured down upon him, the lightening flashed, the thunder echoed off the cliffs.  
"PETOFI IS REBORN!!!!!"  
  
The shouting of a man could be heard even over the massive rolling of thunder. All three men stopped dead in their tracks. Quentin and Barnabas had pulled up to the house at the same time as Willie. The aged caretaker of Collinwood had felt like a scolded boy after Barnabas had gotten finished berating him for leaving the estate at such a critical time... even if it had been for David. All of that changed, however, with the primal scream of a man in the woods... a man who just yelled the name of 'Petofi'.  
"Quickly... in the house," Barnabas led the others into the empty Drawing Room of the Great House. There wasn't a sound... no sound at all.  
"Carolyn?!" Barnabas called upstairs.  
"Maggie?!" Quentin did likewise.  
"Wh... wh... where do you think they are?" Willie's disappointment in himself for having disobeyed Barnabas now gave way to outright terror that his doing so might have caused the family to be open to attack.  
"The Tower Room?" Barnabas looked at Quentin, remembering that that was where he had instructed Stone to take the family if he felt that a threat was imminent.  
"I'll check," and with that, Quentin Collins ran up the main stairway to check the dreaded Tower Room.  
"What d'ya need me ta do, Barnabas?" Willie was eager for any opportunity to cleanse himself from his recent failure.  
"Just stay here for now, Willie," Barnabas could only think of where the family might be at the moment. If they were not in the Tower Room... then it would appear that their enemy had struck again... perhaps, this time, fatally.  
Quentin came running back downstairs.  
"They're all upstairs, locked in the Tower... all except Stone, Charles and Magdalena."  
"Willie, go upstairs, stay with the women. Quentin, did they say where the others were?"  
"Well, no one seems to know where Charles has gotten off to... but Carolyn did say that Stone and Magdalena were going to check out some light they saw at the Old House."  
"The Old House..." Barnabas truly did not like the sound of that. It was Adam's birthplace, and – in his warped mind – his birthright. "We should call the police."  
"Now you're talking." Quentin led the way into the Drawing Room. He picked up the receiver and began dialing... stopping after only a couple of digits. "The line's dead."  
"How cliché." Barnabas attempted to hide his fear with a glib remark.  
"So? What now, old friend-o-mine?"  
"Well... we have little choice," Barnabas grabbed his cane from its resting place alongside the table, "we have to go and face him alone." The two turned to head back out into the growing maelstrom... but were frozen in terror on reaching the massive doors of the Drawing Room... there stood...  
"My God... Adam?" Barnabas couldn't believe his eyes. The man was definitely the size that he remembered Adam as being, but the face looked completely different. He still didn't look a day over thirty... even after all these years.  
"No, Barnabas... not Adam," The menacing figure smiled as he raised his shriveled right hand, the light of the Drawing Room glistening off the large ruby stone on his index finger. "Not anymore."  
  
The cell in the basement of what had once been the Old House had been put there originally to hide some of the family's darker secrets. During the tenure of its final occupant, Barnabas Collins, it had been used to keep the mindless hulk known to Barnabas and his friends as 'Adam'. Now, more than a third of a century later... it was once more a prison to a beast... a different kind of beast.  
Magdalena pressed herself as close to the door as she could. In the frequent flashes of lightening, she could see her companion... a man she thought she might grow in time to love... turning before her eyes into a hideous creature.  
"No...no...no...no..." He kept repeating over and over.  
The latest flash of light had caused Magdalena to believe she was truly losing her mind. Stone sat in the corner, his shirt ripped from the metamorphosis that his chest and arms were going through. His face, however, remained unchanged. He is fighting it! Magdalena thought to herself, He is fighting to control the beast that is within him.  
"Mag...da...le...na," Stone whispered... almost reverently.  
"Yes, Stone, I am here." The sound of his voice calmed her somehow. She let go of the door... inching her way closer to him.  
"NO!" Stone yelled at her, "Stay where you are. Don't come any closer... I don't know how long I can control the transformation."  
"You can do it, Stone," Magdalena felt sure of it, "you are doing it!"  
"I don't know how," he clutched his stomach, obviously in agonizing pain, "I've never been able to before..."  
"There is no full moon," Magdalena admittedly knew little of his affliction, but she knew enough of the old gypsy legends to venture a guess, "whatever magic he used on you... it is not powerful enough to overcome your own will."  
"Let's... hope...so."  
Magdalena knelt next to him. He tried to move away, but it was obvious that he was using every single ounce of his energy to prevent his changing... and afraid that if he used even the small amount of energy it would take to move away from her... he might lose the control he now had.  
She took his arm... an arm covered with dog-like fur. His hand was padded like a dog's paw... his fingers elongated and topped off with long, black claws. The young gypsy looked at his face. The next lightening bolt showed that he was beginning to grow hair at his cheeks... his nose beginning to draw up and blacken.  
"Do not leave me, Stone," her eyes begged him as much as her voice did.  
"I'm... trying... so... hard... don't... want... to... hurt... you..."  
Magdalena Rakosi took his furring face in her hand, looking deep into his eyes... trying to touch base with the human soul that she knew existed below the hairy surface. "You will not hurt me... I am sure of it; but if I am to die this night... I can think of no better place to do so than in your arms." With that, she put her lips to his snarling mouth... and kissed him.  
Beneath the wet ruins of the Old House, a single sound penetrated the night... and the storm that engulfed it...  
"AAWWWRRRRROOOOOOOOOO."  
  
Adam/Petofi smiled at his intended prey. Barnabas and Quentin stood before him with looks of utter defeat on their faces. Would they not even attempt to fight him? If so, too bad. He motioned for them to take a seat in the Drawing Room.  
"I'd rather stand, thank you." Quentin spoke defiantly... how very Quentin.  
Barnabas sat in the stylish Victorian chair just below the portrait of Julia. He looked up at her and then back at his enemy.  
"Do you recognize her, Adam?"  
"I've told you Barnabas... Adam is no longer here. I, however, do remember Julia fondly. She was a remarkable woman. I take it that she is no longer with us."  
"No... she passed away several years ago now."  
"My condolences."  
"Thank you..."  
"Petofi"  
"Excuse me?"  
"You were about to add 'Petofi' but you stopped yourself."  
"Because you are not Petofi... not really. Oh, you may be the spirit of Petofi, but you are not the man himself."  
"Spirits and bodies... does it really matter in the end?"  
"It does... if Sarah is still with you." Barnabas sat in a manner that indicated he was about to take the offensive. Quentin wasn't quite sure what he had in mind... or what was going on.  
Petofi ignored Barnabas' mention of Sarah, turning his attention, instead, to the other Collins in the room. "Quentin... the years have not been kind."  
"Disappointed?"  
"No... I have no more use for you... if you choose to die, so be it. The young man who looks like you, though... I don't think he is as eager to die."  
"Where is he?!" Quentin rushed toward Petofi, but stopped at the sight of the raised hand reaching for him.  
"He is taking out revenge for you against she who cursed you to begin with."  
"Who? Magda?"  
"Yes... she is with him now... about to see him as he truly is."  
Quentin knew that he must be confusing Magdalena for her mother, but what did he mean about Stone showing who he truly is? There wouldn't be a full moon for another month.  
As if reading his mind, Petofi responded, "There are other ways to conjure up a werewolf than using a full moon." He smiled and rubbed his shriveled hand.  
"NO!" Quentin rushed for the door, but the massive oak doors slammed shut before him.  
"Oh no, Quentin, you aren't going anywhere... ever again."  
Quentin looked at Barnabas who now stood and moved to the window. He must be planning something... but what?  
"I should like to speak to Sarah... if I may." Barnabas looked menacingly at Petofi.  
"I'm sure you would... but I like her right where she is," Petofi said, tapping on his chest.  
"Of what use is she to you?"  
"Oh, very useful. You see, even after I have killed you... you will spend eternity knowing that your dear baby sister is stuck here with me... wherever I go... for all time."  
"How? How have you done this?"  
"Well... I shall tell you... so that you will believe once and for all that I am Petofi! When I returned to the surface world, searching for a young body to inhabit, I came across Adam in the sanitarium. He was raving like a madman, so I knew he would be an excellent target. However, he was not alone. Hovering at his side was little Sarah... his guardian angel I suppose."  
"What led you to Adam?"  
"Oh, Barnabas," Petofi laughed, "Do you think I am the only enemy you have in the nether world? No... you have many. Not the least of which was a charming young lady most recently known as... Eve."  
Barnabas knew the name all too well... and was not surprised to hear it again. She had been the monstrous mate that he and Julia had been forced to create for Adam by the warlock Nicholas Blair. Unlike Adam, she had been evil from day one... reincarnated from a homicidal madwoman from Nicholas' own past.  
"So, this Eve led you to Adam... and you simply moved right on in," Quentin joined the conversation... beginning to see what Barnabas had in mind. Over the course of the conversation, Barnabas had moved to the exact opposite side of the room... putting Petofi directly between himself and Quentin.  
"And on seeing this... Sarah attempted to intervene and make you leave..." Barnabas put the final pieces of the puzzle together. What would appear to a normal person as a multiple personality disorder was, in fact, a multiple possession... with his baby sister caught in the middle of two insane men.  
"I see your powers of deduction have not dulled over the years, my old friend," Petofi was glad of that... it would make his victory over Barnabas Collins that much sweeter.  
"Now what?" Quentin was curious as to Petofi's next plan.  
"Now I move on with my life. After I dispose of the two of you... I will seek out the others... and destroy the Collinses once and for all. Collinwood will become part of the family estate once more... and on completion of my takeover of Collins Enterprises, I shall own it all... everything your family ever had."  
"What about David and Roger? Neither of them are here." Barnabas stalled for just a second longer.  
"Oh, I expect that David will find his father very soon... and by tomorrow will be a hunted man for his murder."  
"Murder?" That bit of information stopped Barnabas in his tracks. "Roger is dead?"  
Petofi looked at his watch, "Oh, by now I'm sure of it."  
Barnabas was furious. He looked at Petofi with pure hatred in his eyes. Now was the time to destroy this monster once and for all! "NOW!"  
Quentin lunged for Petofi. In mid-air, however, he was stopped by some unseen force, hanging for just a second before being flung backward into the wall, smashing into the wet bar, causing the mirror and coat of arms to fall from the wall onto his head. Petofi turned around and stood over him.  
"Did you really expect that to work?" Petofi spoke to the apparently unconscious Quentin. He could feel the approach of his second enemy over his shoulder. He turned around to see Barnabas upon him, cane held high to strike. With a wave of his hand, the cane flew out of Barnabas' hand, flying across the room, striking the portrait of Julia.  
Barnabas stood, with a defeated look on his face. He looked dejectedly at the torn portrait of his beloved late wife. Turning back to face Petofi, he could see that his ancient foe was coming toward him, his mystical hand raised and reaching out for its intended victim.  
Barnabas Collins stood to face his fate like a gentleman. When Petofi was just a few feet away, however, a pale look came over his face. He looked around nervously.  
"No! Go away!" Petofi spoke to no one... at least no one that could be seen.  
Just then, the lights went out. Barnabas felt himself being lifted and set gently on his favorite chair. Sound of furniture scooting and slamming against walls could be heard in all directions of the room. The lights came back on. Barnabas saw that Quentin had been moved to the sofa, still apparently unconscious. In the center of the room stood Petofi, holding his hand close to his chest. In front of him stood someone else... a hooded figure.  
"Leave here!" Petofi commanded the presence, "You have no business here!"  
"On the contrary," a familiar feminine voice came from under the dark hood, "my business has always been here..." She removed her hood to stare down her opponent.  
Angelique!  
Barnabas was too shocked to speak... too shocked to move. He watched in fascination as the two powerful sorcerers stood toe-to-toe... facing eachother one last time.  
"You, my dear, are going to make this even more sweet for me," Petofi smiled as he approached Angelique.  
The lovely blonde witch, however, had other plans. She reached out her hand, pulling Petofi's magical hand to hers like a magnet. On clutching it, a static charge filled the room. Lightening struck from the storm outside... through the window... into the touching forms of Petofi and his true nemesis. The lights went out once more, the only lumination in the room coming from the electrifying forms of the two battling entities. Both figures screamed in agony. Barnabas watched as the image of Angelique began to fade in and out.  
Finally, lights came back on to reveal Petofi lying helpless in the floor. The cloaked form of Angelique smoking from all over her body. She turned to look at Barnabas, her face expressing the intensive pain she must have just endured.  
"You can take him now... but quickly..." Angelique spoke weakly.  
"How?"  
"Sarah... call upon Sarah... she is still submerged... she does not know how to come out."  
"Can you help her?"  
"No, my love, I am sorry... but I cannot..." Her image began to fade.  
"Angelique!"  
"Hurry, my love... his strength will come back...I have done all I can for you... for now..."  
"Do not leave, Angelique! I have to tell you..."  
"Tell me what, my love?" Her face was as angelic as any Barnabas Collins had ever seen in his long life.  
"I want to tell you... that... I love you... I know now that I always loved you..."  
At that moment, Barnabas Collins saw something that he had rarely seen in the two centuries that he had known Angelique Bouchard... she smiled. She placed her gentle hand to her mouth and kissed it... blowing the kiss in his direction... and vanished.  
As she vanished, Petofi began to rise. Pulling himself up to his full height, rubbing his charred hand. He looked malevolently at Barnabas, limping toward him. Barnabas rose and moved against the fireplace.  
"Sarah!" Barnabas called to his baby sister, imprisoned in the body of Adam/Petofi, "Sarah, come out! It's Barnabas!"  
Nothing.  
Petofi laughed weakly, "The game is up, Barnabas. Angelique gave it her best shot... but she is no match for Andreas Petofi." He was just about to reach Barnabas when something caught his attention. Quentin was making noise on the sofa... he was saying something... No...  
He was singing something...  
"London Bridge is falling down...falling down... falling down..."  
  
In the Tower Room, Willie, Carolyn, and Maggie Evans were gathered around the air grating in the floor. They could hear everything that was going on in the Drawing Room. Maggie was trying desperately not to deteriorate into hysterics. Willie was nervous, wondering what he would do to protect the women and children if Barnabas and Quentin failed to get this guy. Carolyn... was angry.  
"Adam?" She couldn't believe it. Adam had kidnapped her? Had tried to kill her? She turned and stormed for the door.  
"What're you doin'?" Willie was afraid to ask.  
"What am I doing?! I'm going to confront that son of a bitch!" Carolyn looked at her kids as her expletive slipped. Both were scared, and she was only making it worse. She took out the key and started opening the old oak door.  
Willie jumped in front of the door, "Now, Barnabas wouldn't like that and you know it!"  
"I'm a grown woman, Willie! Now get out of my way," she opened the door as Willie moved, "and... take care of my children."  
"Don't worry about that," her old and trusted friend told her, "I'll guard 'em with my life."  
A tear filled Carolyn's eye. "Thank you, Willie." And with that, she reached up... and kissed him passionately. "Thank you."  
Willie Loomis stood in absolute shock.  
"Carolyn..." he called to her.  
"Yes," she stopped just prior to closing the door behind her.  
"... be careful," then he closed the door... locked it... and said a silent prayer.  
  
Many believe that all men possess that side of them that exists in a state of absolute bestiality. Many never touch that darker side of their nature... many have no choice. Vial Rutherford Stone never had the choice. On reaching adulthood, he began his monthly transformations into a creature of the night. Over time, he learned to find ways to hide himself from the world during that time. Tonight, however, several days after his "scheduled" transformations, Stone fought with all his might to keep himself from becoming that animal that he hated so much. His body from the neck down was all but transformed... the only sign that he was still in control being his face. Even with a blackened, animal nose and bared fangs, his face was still recognizable as human... and he hoped to keep it that way.  
It hadn't taken long for Magdalena to figure out that Stone – or, rather, what he became – was the beast that attacked her several nights ago in the woods of Collinwood. She also knew now what had saved her that night... her silver bracelets. The same silver bracelets that even now were sitting in a drawer in her room at the Great House along with her gypsy attire. All she had left was her pentagram... the sign of the werewolf.  
Kissing Stone for strength had been a mistake. Apparently, it had distracted his mind from the important task of controlling his changing. Once she felt the fangs nibble her lip, she had pulled back. Not knowing what else to do to help him, she pulled out her pentagram and held it up to the man-creature. He had immediately retreated to the far corner of the cell, hiding his gaze from the charm.  
Magdalena could no longer communicate with him. Even if he still could, he did not. He was using literally every ounce of will and discipline to prevent the final stages of his alteration. Magdalena wept. She wept for fear. She wept for anger. She wept for love. Yes, as silly as it sounded, especially only having known Stone for a couple of days, she knew that she loved him. Even if she possessed her mother's powers of conjuring and could open a portal to return her to her time... she was not sure she could do it. She loved Vial Stone... and Vial Stone was a werewolf.  
Suddenly it hit her! The power of the pentagram! Her mother had drilled it in her head for most of her life. Magdalena slid the amulet and its chain over her head and moved slowly toward the creature she knew to be the man she loved.  
Stone snapped at her, attacking as a cornered animal would; but the pentagram kept him at bay. His snarl and bark turned to a whimper. He hid his face in his massive arms.  
In one quick movement, Magdalena slid the necklace around the animal's head. It fell into place as his head snapped up to see what was going on. He leapt at Magdalena to attack her. She stumbled back and fell to the floor. He moved in for the final pounce to devour his victim... and stopped.  
From his chest, steam appeared to be rising. The beast pulled at the chain, trying to pull it from his body... unable to understand the human concept of a 'necklace'. He whimpered and howled in pain.  
In moments that seemed like an eternity, a bare circle formed on the creature's chest... spreading across his body as the counter-transformation began. The animal fell back to the corner that he had occupied only seconds before, weakly tugging at the chain... the animal trying to retain control of its body just as Stone had done several minutes earlier.  
Magdalena Rakosi backed up to the door again... sitting there and staring at the beast in her cell... hoping... praying that her plan would work.  
  
London Bridge is falling down...  
Falling down...  
Falling down...  
London Bridge is falling down...  
My...  
Fair...  
La-dy.  
It was such a simple, nonsensical song really. A favorite of children for countless generations... and the particular favorite of a particularly special little girl. In the year 1795, Sarah Collins was ten years old. She had a favorite doll... a favorite ball... and a favorite game: London Bridge. She would giggle with glee when her much older brother, Barnabas, would grab her in his arms when it came to the verse, 'Take the key and lock her up...'.  
Centuries later, when the spirit of the little girl still haunted the Old House on the Collinwood estate, that song would still be resonating the corridors... a grim reminder to her undead brother that she was still there... still watching him... still hoping for his redemption.  
Today, trapped in a physical body possessed by two insane men, the spirit of the little girl existed still... never, it seemed, to know the peace and rest that death should have brought to such an innocent soul as hers. Deep, however, in the depths of the mind in which she now existed... she sang her song still.  
And Quentin Collins knew it.  
He didn't know if it had been Angelique that had brought him back to consciousness, or if his head was even harder than most gave him credit for, but he was alert and thinking as he lay on the sofa of the Drawing Room. He could hear that Petofi was going in for the kill on Barnabas. The second that Dr. Tate had mentioned the name of Adam's third 'personality', Sarah, the song had immediately come to mind.  
Back in the year 1897, where Quentin Collins was living his 'normal' lifespan, he had met Barnabas. Distrustful of him at first, he soon came to trust Barnabas as he had never trusted another soul on earth before or since. When Barnabas had finally exposed himself as a time-traveling vampire intent on saving Quentin from a gruesome fate, the two sat down, and Barnabas told his story... and what a story it had been. Part of that story had been of his eventual resurrection in the year 1966... and his attempts at making a vampire bride for himself. Those attempts were hindered by the ghost of his baby sister... her presence made known by the singing of her favorite song.  
Quentin counted on her being able to hear him as he lay on the sofa and sang, "London Bridge is falling down... falling down... falling down..."  
Barnabas knew exactly what Quentin was doing, and joined him, "London Bridge is falling down... My Fair Lady..."  
Petofi looked at them as if they were insane. "What the devil are you two doing?"  
The two Collins men chimed in unison, "Take the key and lock her up... lock her up... lock her up..."  
Suddenly, Petofi felt odd. A nervous feeling was building within him... as if he weren't quite in control any more... as if he might be being fought from the inside. What in the name of hell did this song have to do with anything? One thing was certain to the evil warlock... he had to stop the singing.  
He lunged for Barnabas, forcing him to the ground. He placed Adam's massive hands around Barnabas' throat... choking the infernal singing into oblivion. He kept a careful eye over his shoulder, sure that Quentin would attempt to attack him from behind.  
But no such attack was coming. Quentin only sang louder.  
"TAKE THE KEY AND LOCK HER UP... MY... FAIR... LA-DY."  
That was all it took.  
Adam's hands fell limp at his side. Barnabas choked, searching for his breath. Quentin rushed to his side as Adam's body fell back to the floor... lifelessly staring at the immense ceiling above.  
"Are you alright?" Quentin asked as he eased Barnabas to more of a sitting posture.  
"Yes... yes... Quentin... I will be fine... Is he...?"  
"Dead?... I don't know."  
No sooner had the words left Quentin Collins' mouth than the body jerked upright into a sitting position. Adam moved his legs and sat in an 'Indian style' position... his countenance one of an innocent child.  
  
"Barnabas?" Adam spoke in an effeminate, child-like voice.  
"Sarah?" Barnabas fought to keep the tears back.  
"Yes... where am I, Barnabas?"  
"You are here, my dear," Barnabas reached out and grabbed Adam's massive hands, "You are here with me at Collinwood."  
"The bad man... is he gone?"  
"Yes, Sarah," Barnabas could hold back the tears no longer. They streamed down his face as he fought to continue to soothe his little sister, "I believe so."  
"And Adam? Where is Adam?"  
Both men looked at eachother. She was conscious of Adam. Quentin looked at the large male body with the mind and spirit of a little girl, "You mean he's not with you?"  
There was silence for an uncomfortable minute. Adam's body stared off into space. Finally, Sarah answered...  
"He is hurt, Barnabas," she said sadly, "Help him."  
Barnabas did not know what to do. Every instinct in his body told him to destroy the monstrosity once and for all. But he could never say 'no' to Sarah.  
"I will, Sarah, my sweet," Barnabas wept to her, "I will."  
Adam's eyes rolled back into his head, and he fell once more to the floor. Sarah Collins had left... hopefully on to a better place.  
Quentin helped Barnabas to his feet, and the two lifted the heavy form of Adam to the sofa that Quentin had occupied only scant minutes ago.  
Carolyn walked in just then. Fury and vengeance heavy on the features of her lovely face. In her hand, she held a revolver.  
"Get out of my way, Barnabas." Carolyn pointed the gun at the large body on the sofa.  
"No, Carolyn," Barnabas reached for the gun, "It's alright now."  
"No it isn't! He's the one! He's the one who tried to kill me!"  
"Not him, Carolyn," Quentin said soothingly, "not exactly," he looked at Barnabas, who nodded approvingly, "He was suffering from a... a multiple personality disorder. The personality that chained you in the reservoir wasn't Adam."  
The mention of his name was enough to calm Carolyn somewhat.  
"Adam..."  
"Yes, Carolyn, Adam," Barnabas approached her, putting one hand on her shoulder reassuringly... while taking the revolver with the other, "The same Adam that loved you so many years ago."  
"But... he looks so young..."  
"We're all at a bit of a loss for that one." Barnabas didn't want to go into the whole, long story, "but I assure you... it is Adam."  
Carolyn sat down and began brushing his thick, black hair back away from his handsome features. "What about now? Is he Adam? Or is he...?"  
"Petofi was the name of the other personality... the one that tried to kill you." Quentin offered.  
She looked back down into Adam's face, and his eyes slowly opened. He looked at her weakly, his hazel eyes in stark contrast to his pale face and dark hair. Carolyn started at first, unsure of exactly who was looking at her.  
"Ca... Ca... Carolyn?" Adam Collins spoke, weakened almost to the point of death.  
"Yes, Adam... it's me." She could not help but smile at her long lost friend. Of all the men in her life, Adam had always been the sweetest... the most innocent.  
Adam looked around the room and saw the man that had been the ire of his hatred for lo these many decades. "Barnabas?..."  
"Yes, Adam," Barnabas could not explain it, but his hatred for Adam was all but gone.  
"I... I came here to... to... kill you."  
"It's alright now, Adam," Barnabas felt it was important to keep saying the name... to reassure the boy of exactly who he was, "Petofi is gone."  
"Petofi?"  
"Yes, don't you remember?"  
Adam looked back at Carolyn, "He told me you were dead..."  
Carolyn looked at Quentin, and then back at the confused young man, "I almost was. But that's all over with now. I'm alright. And now you need to concentrate on getting better as well."  
Quentin stood and headed for the foyer, "I'll get my cell and call Dr. Tate at Windcliffe..."  
"NO!" Adam sat upright, a look of terror on his face. "I don't want to go back there." He tried to get up... to run if he had to... but Barnabas put a hand on his shoulder and eased him back onto the sofa.  
"It's alright, Adam," Barnabas calmed him. "You aren't going back there. We'll have Dr. Tate come see you here. You'll stay at Collinwood... with us."  
"At Collinwood?..." Adam was excited, confused, and nervous all at once.  
"Yes, Adam," Barnabas looked at Quentin, then Carolyn, then back to Adam, "Collinwood is your home."  
Adam smiled... and then broke down in tears. "I am so sorry," he wept, holding Barnabas' hand, then looking around the room, "to all of you... I am so very sorry."  
"Adam," Quentin said, kicking himself for not having already brought it up, "Where are Stone and Magdalena?"  
"I... don't know..." Adam strained to think, "Who are they?"  
Barnabas looked to Quentin, "Call Dr. Tate, Quentin, then you and I will have a look down by the Old House."  
"Right!" Quentin moved quickly out the door into the foyer... and then started backing back into the room... his arms raised.  
Barnabas turned his attention into the foyer to see what was causing Quentin's reaction, not able to believe his eyes once he did...  
"David?"  
Daniel Collins walked into the Drawing Room, soaked from the deluge outside, a shotgun in his hand... held at the ready.  
"That's right, Cousin," Daniel hissed malevolently, "all of you... over against the fireplace... NOW!"  
Carolyn helped Adam to his feet. The two joined Barnabas and Quentin under the damaged portrait of Julia. David moved the shotgun from side to side, a smile of pure evil on his face.  
Barnabas and Quentin looked at eachother askance. Had Petofi now possessed David? If so, what do they do now? And if not...  
"I see Petrof didn't finish you all off the way he did 'ole Roger," Daniel laughed with evil glee, "That's alright... more fun for me."  
"What do you want?" Barnabas asked, stalling for time.  
"Oh, that's simple," Daniel moved closer, "I want all of you dead... and Petrof to take the blame."  
"Uncle Roger is... dead?" The weight of what had just been said finally sinking in to Carolyn.  
"Yeah," Daniel sneered, "from your buddy Petrof... but now I'm gonna finish the job." He raised the shotgun.  
"Why, David?" Carolyn asked.  
"Goddammit! I AM NOT DAVID!!! My name is..."  
"Daniel..." Barnabas finished for him.  
"How do you know that?" Daniel lowered the shotgun just a bit.  
"Because we've met... many years ago... in your own time."  
"My... own time?"  
"Yes, Daniel," Barnabas moved closer to explain, but Daniel only raised the shotgun menacingly. "This is not your time... but, rather, a time parallel to your own... where the people you know have made very different choices... with very different outcomes..."  
"Go on..." Daniel could not deny that this was fascinating.  
"In this time, Quentin never married... but Roger did. He had a son that bears a striking resemblance to you. His name is 'David'."  
Daniel started thinking. It was all making sense now. Everything he had grown to suspect in the last few days was, in fact, true. That made Daniel laugh even harder than before. "That's perfect! I kill all of you... inherit everything as the last living Collins... and sneak away back to my own time. Then I'll send 'David' back here... to take the wrap once the cops figure it all out." His laughter echoed through the Great House. "The only question now is... who first?"  
The four Collinses stood in a line at the fireplace. Quentin, Carolyn, Adam, and Barnabas. Daniel raised the shotgun to chest level...  
"Eenie... meenie... minie..."  
The gunshot screamed through the endless halls of the estate...  
And a body in the Drawing Room fell...  
Dead.  
  
CHAPTER 12  
  
The stone floor of the cell in the basement of the Old House was cold against the skin of Vial Stone. The horror that promised to take the night less than an hour ago was over. He lay on his stomach, the pentagram medallion sharp against his flesh. So far, he still hadn't looked up... looked to see what kind of shape Magdalena was in. She had said nothing as yet... and Stone could only prepare himself for the worst.  
He could only assume that she had been the one to place the pentagram around his neck. Why had it stopped the transformation? For that matter, how had their jailer been able to cause the transformation to begin with? So many questions flooded the young man's mind... but the most important was the one he feared asking most of all... how was Magdalena.  
Finally, he ventured a glance... just a glance... around the room. There she sat. Against the door, half frozen with terror, was the beautiful young woman Vial Stone had grown to care so much about in these last forty- eight hours. Care about? No, more even than that... he loved her. God help them both... he loved her.  
Stone moved slowly toward the gypsy lady. She rushed to help him, but he motioned to allow him to do it himself. Eventually, he made his way to the door against which she sat... and propped himself against the wall next to her.  
"Are... are you okay?" Stone asked.  
"Yes... yes... I am fine... now."  
"I'm sorry... I'm sorry I didn't tell you to..."  
"It is alright. Truly! I understand." She reached to wipe the smudge of mud from his face from where he had lain against the floor. He stopped her... taking her hand... and kissing her palm.  
"Thank you." He told her gently.  
"For what?" Magdalena Rakosi smiled at him. "I had no choice," she told him softly. Sensing the growing tenderness of the moment, she added, "You would have killed me if I had not."  
Both of them laughed weakly at that. Stone, however, had to stop himself when he felt the pounding of his ribs. The hour of transforming slowly then re-transforming must have been an unbearable strain on them... and who knew what else. He felt exhausted... and weaker than he'd ever felt before.  
Magdalena touched his ribs, easily so as not to hurt him further, but firm enough to try to feel any significant damage. He stopped her at a particularly tender spot close to his sternum.  
"There's something I have to say," he said nervously.  
"Mr. Stone, I know... you are a werewolf."  
Again, both laughed.  
"I'm serious... there's something I have to say."  
"Yes?..."  
"Magdalena Rakosi... I think... I love you."  
Emotion flooded the otherwise firm disposition of the young gypsy lady. She rushed to kiss him, but inadvertently fell against that same tender spot on his chest. Stone winced in pain.  
"In fact, I love you so much... it hurts." He laughed. She repositioned herself so as not to hurt him further, then placed both arms around his neck and kissed him.  
And he kissed her back.  
  
It had taken longer than usual for the emergency services to reach the Collins mansion in Bangor. The ambulance was the first to arrive... and once they made their way to the upstairs room in which Roger Collins lay, they immediately called for the police to hurry.  
Detective Mike Garrison had just been on his way out the door on his way home when the call came in. Bangor Homicide's oldest and most experienced detective had little choice but to drive all the way out to the Collins mansion... particularly considering whom the victim was.  
Roger Collins lay dead on the floor. The EMT's had removed his restraints to see if there were anything they could do, but nothing else in the room had been touched. The 911 call had been traced to the phone on the nightstand, with its receiver still off the hook. Mr. Collins had apparently tried to point a final finger at whoever had done this.  
Next to the body was a word... a single word written in the victim's own blood... 'D-A-V-I-D'.  
"Any ideas yet on what happened guys?" Garrison asked.  
"Well, he's been shot... but that's not what did it." The EMT looked sadly at the body of the elderly man on the floor.  
"Then what?" Garrison needed to know.  
"First glance? I'd say a heart attack," the EMT looked at his partner, "what would you say, Al?"  
"Definitely," the other paramedic said, pointing at the gunshot wound, "the gunshot was little more than a flesh wound."  
"Weapon?" Garrison looked around as the boys in blue dusted for prints.  
"Shotgun... loaded with dimes."  
"Dimes? Damn," Garrison still looked around the room, "where is it?"  
"Perp must'a took it, Lieutenant," O'Reilley answered. He was a good cop... sure to make detective on the first try.  
"Okay," Garrison took a walk around the room, "nothing missing?"  
"Doesn't look like it," O'Reilley said, checking his notes to make sure, "I'd say whoever did this... Mr. Collins knew him."  
"Yeah," Garrison stood over the bloody accusation on the carpet, "I'd say you were right, O'Reilley." He walked past the carnage to the door.  
"Where you goin', Lieutenant?"  
"A little place about an hour or so from here, Sarg," Garrison yelled back as he headed down the main stairs, "to a little out of the way place called Collinwood."  
  
Barnabas Collins moved over to the body and turned it over, checking for any signs of life... there were none. The shot had been a clean one... right through the center of his chest. He stood, looking at the shotgun on the floor... and kicking it away from the body... just in case. He glanced up in the direction of the foyer to see who it was that had saved all their lives from this madman from another time.  
David Collins came into the Drawing Room.  
"Are you alright, Barnabas?" David asked.  
Barnabas looked at the man whose doppelganger lay in a pool of his own blood. "Yes, David, quite alright... thanks to you."  
"We all are..." Quentin moved toward David but stopped when he saw who walked in behind him.  
Catherine Collins stared at all the people in the Drawing Room before finally resting her eyes on the body of her dead husband. She turned and threw herself into David's waiting arms.  
"It's alright, Catherine," David whispered into her ear, "He'll never hurt you again."  
"David...?" Barnabas began.  
"Yes, Barnabas... this is Catherine. She was Daniel's wife in the other timeline."  
Charles Collins walked in after that. Despite all the confusion and chaos, he seemed quite pleased... and why shouldn't he be. The man who wanted to kill him was dead... and he had his mother back.  
Once David had been able to figure out where he was and what was going on, he immediately began talking to Catherine about coming with him to this time band... away from her husband. She hadn't been sure of what to do until Charles had appeared. The three of them then sat down and talked about the different lives in which they had all existed. How Charles had died in the parallel time... and Catherine in this one. How Daniel and David were identical to eachother. How the ghost of Catherine in this time had come to Charles in a dream and warned him of the impending danger.  
Charles looked at Barnabas and Quentin... still remembering the horrible images he'd seen at the Old House all those days ago. What had they meant? Maybe he would find out... but to be honest with himself... he didn't want to. Now all he cared about was getting to know the mother he'd lost so many years ago.  
Barnabas came closer and extended a hand to Catherine Collins.  
"Allow me to introduce myself," he began, "My name is Barnabas Collins. Welcome to Collinwood."  
Catherine nervously stretched out her hand and accepted Barnabas' gentle kiss on her knuckles, "Thank you, Mr. Collins."  
Carolyn moved Adam to the sofa once more, then excused herself to go and fetch the others from the Tower Room. Quentin left to call the police, and Barnabas herded the others to the study before going back into the room to see to Adam.  
Adam sat looking at the charred remains of his right hand.  
"I'm sure we can see about getting that fixed." Barnabas offered, not realizing that the damage was so deep that a plastic prosthetic would be the most young Adam could look forward to.  
Adam gave a small laugh at the notion, "No, Barnabas... I think I never want to see that hand again." He stood and walked over to the portrait of Julia. "She truly was kind to me, you know."  
"Yes," Barnabas spoke softly of his dearly departed, "I know."  
"She really wanted the two of us to patch things up."  
"I believe I would like that as well."  
Adam looked at him, "You know, even without Petofi, I would have still sought out revenge against you."  
Barnabas smiled, "Perhaps."  
"Then why are you taking me in now?"  
The two hundred fifty year old patriarch of the Collins family looked at the kind eyes on the portrait of his wife, "Because she would have wanted me to... and she always managed to get me to do what she wanted me to... sooner or later."  
"And what kind of relationship can we have after all this time? After all that has been said and done between us?"  
"A strained one, perhaps... at first." He looked across the room to another portrait, and the nameplate under it, which read 'Joshua Collins'. Looking back at Adam, he added, "But such is the way... for fathers and sons." Then he took Adam Collins by the arm and led him into the room with the others.  
  
Quentin had not even completed the number to the Collinsport Police Department when a knock came on the door. Sheriff Patterson stood there with another gentleman, dressed in a heavy raincoat, his mustached face round, yet firm.  
"Sheriff, I was just calling you," Quentin half-smiled.  
"Is David in?" The sheriff didn't look like he was in the mood for small talk.  
"Is this about Roger? Is he...?"  
"Yes, Mr. Collins, now... is David in?"  
"Yes, of course, right this way," Quentin motioned for the two gentlemen to come in. Barnabas and Adam were coming from the Drawing Room just as they did.  
"My, but that was prompt," Barnabas looked amazed at Sheriff Patterson.  
"Excuse me?" The sheriff didn't understand.  
"I think we should all take a few seconds and then start from square one. I'll get David and meet the rest of you in the Drawing Room." Quentin moved hurriedly toward the study. The two policemen looked nervously at eachother, and then to Barnabas Collins, who was holding the door to the Drawing Room open for them.  
"Gentlemen? Come into my parlor," Barnabas gave his most friendly smile.  
The two men entered... and the question and answer session began.  
  
Roger's funeral was three days later. As with Elizabeth's, it rained through the entire affair. David wept bitterly, but once more had his wife and son to comfort him. It had taken little time or explanation to clear David of his father's murder. Daniel, after all, had not been David, and the fingerprints proved it. The prints on the shotgun connected one body to the other. Barnabas had explained Adam's prints on the shotgun away by saying that Adam had picked up the weapon after David had shot the intruder. As to the resemblance between David and the murderer, who could say, really?  
Dr. Beverly Tate had come to Collinwood the day after the final bout with Petofi. After several hours of discussion and tests, the good doctor seemed convinced that Adam had finally 'incorporated' all of his other personalities. She had, however, asked that Adam come back with her to Windcliffe for further tests and analysis. Adam had gotten nervous... but Barnabas' insistence that he remain on the estate calmed him immediately.  
Quentin had excused himself rather quickly after the sheriff and Detective Garrison began questioning David and Barnabas, eager to find out the whereabouts of his own son. He had made it through the torrential downpour to the ruins of the Old House, yelling out Stone's and Magdalena's names until he saw the door to the old basement lying open. He went inside, feeling his way down the spiraling staircase until he reached the main room, still lit by the dying torches that Adam had lit hours earlier. Quentin called to them again, and Magdalena answered from the cell. Quentin took the key from the wall and opened the door. They emerged, Stone relying heavily on Magdalena for support. The two seemed a natural pair. Quentin saw them home, and Maggie saw to it that both received a cup of hot broth and a good night's rest... although just as she entered the study where both had been sitting to help Magdalena take Stone up to his room, she found instead both young heroes asleep on the small loveseat in the study... passed out in eachother's arms.  
  
As the weeks went by at Collinwood, things seemed to be getting back to something more closely resembling normalcy. Carolyn had decided to accept Barnabas' request and remain on the estate, raising her children in her ancestral home. With David's inheritance of his father's wealth, he, Carolyn, and Adam joined forces, intent on making Collins Enterprises stronger than ever. However, as spring gave way to summer, Barnabas noted strange romantic tensions mounting in the air of the Great House.  
Adam and Carolyn were spending a great deal of time together, much to the chagrin of Willie! In all these years, Barnabas had never noted any romantic tendencies toward Carolyn on Willie's part... yet the elderly caretaker did appear to be somewhat jealous of the attention being received by Adam. Then again, the two never had been quite fond of eachother, Barnabas remembered.  
Then there were Stone and Magdalena. The two were utterly inseparable... and completely in love. When Magdalena had duties to perform, Stone saw to it that he helped her as much as possible. Barnabas knew, however, as he watched them that he must still look for a way to get the girl back to her own time. Both he and Willie had searched diligently for the staircase through time... but thus far with no success. If Barnabas' hypothesis was correct, however, it would return in tandem with a month that it existed in the past... but only time would tell.  
Charles came to Collinwood often. Odd, Barnabas thought, considering that he now had his mother with him in Bangor. However, it appeared that his reason for returning as often as he did had something to do with Magdalena. He would look longingly at her any time he came to the house. Of course, the young lady was so enraptured by Stone that she gave Charles little or no notice. Barnabas felt for the boy. He, too, knew the pain of love denied. But, the boy was young.  
Quentin continued his seduction of Maggie Evans. Barnabas watched as Quentin began showing very un-Quentin-like devotion to his old friend. The master of Collinwood had wanted on several occasions to tell Quentin of the marriage of his alter ego in the parallel time with Maggie's counterpart, and the happiness that they found together. He felt in the end, however, that such knowledge of 'the road not taken' might cause regret in both his old friends. No, Barnabas thought, let them discover eachother on their own.  
That left only Barnabas. Alone in the Drawing Room, holding his snifter of brandy, he gazed at the restored portrait of his beloved Julia. Next to it, now, hang the amazingly restored portrait of himself, sifted from the ruins of the Old House by young Charles. He looked at Julia, missing her company terribly. He turned to refill his glass at the bar when he noticed something that he hadn't before... a black spot on the carpet... roughly where Angelique had stood the night she confronted Petofi.  
Angelique, Barnabas Collins thought to himself. Once more she had come to save the family during its darkest hour. Once more she had shown that neither death nor hell itself would stop her from showing her undying love for him. That reminded him of some important unfinished business.  
  
The delivery truck from the funeral parlor backed up to the entrance of Eagle Hill Cemetery. Vial Stone had just finished a morning's work of clearing the gravesite of 'Valerie Collins' as his father and Barnabas watched from the shade of a nearby tree. Although both men had insisted on helping, Stone had implored them to allow him to do this for them. The site was more beautiful than any other in the cemetery.  
The deliverymen placed the massive grave marker where the small, broken one had been. The foreman noticed that the names on the two markers were not the same and asked Barnabas if some mistake had been made on their part.  
"Oh, no," Barnabas looked lovingly at the new stone, "I assure you that the name is at long last correct." He signed for the services of the men, tipped them handsomely for their trouble, and watched as they left back toward Collinsport. When he walked back to the site, Quentin and Stone were standing over the grand, new marker.  
"'Angelique Collins'," Quentin read, "'1775-1840', 'Beloved Wife and Family Protector Immortal', 'May She Know In Death The Peace That She Gave Us With Her Life.'" he looked at Barnabas, "touching testimony, Cous."  
"She deserves no less," Barnabas fought back a tear.  
"Well, gentlemen," Stone interceded, "I am afraid I must away." He feigned tipping an imaginary hat and began to leave toward his car.  
"Big date?" Quentin yelled after.  
"The biggest!" Stone smiled as he yelled back to his father. Both men had decided to take a hiatus from their respective careers to spend some more time at Collinwood. The one thing that they had all learned from the previous nightmarish events was that life was precious... and the time spent with those you love is something that can never be taken for granted.  
Barnabas looked to his old friend, "We should be on our way as well." He bent slightly to kiss the new stone erected in memory of his timeless enemy, lover, and friend.  
"So, Cous," Quentin began as both men slid into Quentin's classic blue Chevy, "do you think we've finally seen the end of the horrors of Collinwood?"  
"Oh, I should hope not..."  
Quentin looked at his cousin in amazement.  
"Whatever would we do with ourselves if we did?" With that Barnabas Collins laughed in a way that he hadn't done in years. Quentin shook his head, joined him in laughter and turned on the radio. The song caused both men to freeze... look at eachother... and laugh even harder. The music roared from the windows as the car sped away toward Collinwood... and the future.  
"AWWROOOOO! Werewolves of London... AWWROOOOOOO!"  
  
EPILOUGUE  
  
It is difficult to describe the combination of unrelenting fire... and unfathomable darkness; but such is the nature of Hell. The sound and feel of rising steam exists as a constant presence, attaching itself humidly to those who are forced to remain there. Unlike Dante's images, it exists very much like the prison it was meant to be... complete with inescapable cells that confine the very essences of the damned. Count Andreas Petofi now inhabited such a cell.  
He had been given a reprieve by his dread master, Diabolos; but he had failed miserably. Not only had he failed to ruin the Collins family, he had also lost in battle with mere mortals... both unforgivable in the eyes of the Master of Shadows.  
As Petofi floated, his essence confined by means beyond his understanding, an unexpected – and unwanted – visitor awakened him from his own introspection into his recent failure.  
Hello, Andreas.  
Go Away!  
Now, that's not a very nice way to greet an old friend.  
You, sir, are no friend! Where were you when that witch started to intervene in my plans?!  
Are you trying to tell me that Angelique was all that stood between you and success?  
Of course not! She did, however, prove to be an unpleasant surprise.  
The after-life is full of surprises, Andreas.  
What is to become of me now?  
Bone chilling laughter filled the void, Oh, I expect you can plan on this being your entire existence for a very long time... a very long time indeed.  
No, please... give me another chance...  
How many chances do you require, Andreas?  
Just one more... I know I can do it! I can get them all... you could have all of the Collinses once and for all...  
Oh, I will... but not by any help from you. I am sending... another.  
Who?!  
One who hates the Collins family as much as you do... one who already has a trump card to play...  
  
The summer mornings at Collinwood brought a cool breeze from the cliffs of Widows' Hill. The birds could be heard giving concert to the denizens of the estate, awakening them to the promise of a new day.  
Magdalena Rakosi worked diligently preparing breakfast for the family. Preparing meals for nine people three times a day was no small chore in and of itself. Usually, Ms. Maggie helped her, but she had been out late the night before with Mr. Quentin, and Magdalena had no desire to disturb her so early. And, truth be told, Magdalena enjoyed preparing for the large family... her family. After all these months, she had truly come to feel like a member of the family, just as Maggie and Willie did.  
This morning, her thoughts were – as usual – on Stone. The two had grown closer and closer since their ordeal in the basement of the Old House. Although she often thought of her mother, and longed to see her again, she could not at present fathom the thought of being without Stone.  
Then there was Charles. Mr. David's son had made his own attraction for Magdalena very clear as of late. She had been able to politely ignore it at first, but he seemed more and more intent on pursuing the matter. For the life of her, Magdalena did not understand why. She had never, to her knowledge, sent any signals to the young man that she was interested in him in any way other than as friends... and, yet, his interest refused to be deterred.  
Stone had, as yet, shown no 'jealousy' in the matter; and, of course, Magdalena had given him no reason to. Her devotion to her man was as plain as the nose on her face... a nose that, even now, had a small spot of flour on it from her toils in the kitchen.  
She was just placing the rolls in the oven when she felt a sudden shiver up her spine. A coldness overcame her that she simply could not explain... other than it was an intense feeling of... dread. Normally, such a feeling came only with the impending full moon, a time at which she and Mr. Quentin would lock up Stone in the secret room of the Collins mausoleum. As morbid as it sounded, though, Magdalena had grown to actually enjoy those evenings... despite their dark undertones.  
Through their long evenings guarding the man that they both loved so much, she and Quentin had become actually quite close. They swapped insights and humorous stories about Vial, and memories of her mother, Magda. Quentin thought highly of her mother – despite the fact that it was her mother that was the very reason they spent three nights each month here at the mausoleum – and spoke of several adventures that the two of them shared even after their initial encounter with Count Petofi.  
This morning, however, Magdalena could not explain the source of her intuitive feelings of dread. She glanced around the kitchen, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. She felt the rush again, just prior to hearing the banging on the massive front doors of the estate. The beautiful young gypsy took off her apron, wiping her hands on it as she moved cautiously toward the front doors. Passing a mirror in the dining room, she saw and removed the spot of flour from her nose, at the same time fixing her hair so as to be a presentable servant for Mr. Barnabas.  
She opened the large, oak door just as the person on the other side had begun to knock again.  
"Oh, forgive me," the gentleman said. He was an older sounding man, perhaps the same age as Mr. Quentin. He had an elegant look about him... at least as far as Magdalena could tell from his clothing... his face was, somehow shrouded in darkness. "I was beginning to wonder if I had called at too early an hour."  
Magdalena looked at the clock on the opposite wall. It read 6:45 a.m. "It is a bit early for the family to be up on a weekend, Mr...?"  
"I am sorry. I was wondering if I could speak to Mr. Collins... Mr. Quentin Collins."  
"As I said, sir, Mr. Quentin has not yet come down this morning. If you could come back in a few hours..."  
"Again, Miss, I am sorry, I'm afraid that I must insist on seeing Mr. Collins. It is a matter of serious urgency."  
Magdalena felt the shiver up her spine again, but she knew better than to be rude to a guest. "I am sorry, sir. If you will come in, I will show you to the Drawing Room while I go upstairs to announce you."  
"Thank you, my dear," the man came in, still almost hiding his face from the young girl. He walked past her, removing his hat once he did.  
"May I take your coat, sir?"  
"Yes, thank you," he said as he slid the coat off of his shoulders... still not showing his face to her. Instead, he looked around the foyer at the portraits, looking past the doors of the Drawing Room to the old portraits of Mr. Barnabas and his wife hanging above the mantle. The cold rush came over her again.  
"I will tell Mr. Quentin you are here. Mr...?"  
The man turned and faced her just then. His features did give him away as being an older gentleman. His hair was gray and black streaked, and he bore a long, menacing looking mustache.  
"Blair... Nicholas Blair." He smiled at her in a way not unlike the proverbial cat that swallowed the canary.  
"Yes, sir, Mr. Blair, I will go and announce you. Would you care for anything while you wait?"  
"No... no thank you, young lady." He walked toward the Drawing Room.  
Magdalena started to ascend the staircase to awaken Quentin when Mr. Blair stopped her again.  
"Oh, and Miss?"  
"Yes, sir?"  
The man looked at his watch before flashing a large, broad smile to Magdalena. He took in a deep breath, gave one more look around the foyer and Drawing Room of the Great Estate of Collinwood, and said, "Tell Mr. Collins... time's up."  
  
THE END? 


End file.
